Shadows Within Darkness Without
by Minka
Summary: Dark AU; Legolas confronted Boromir *Ch10* Legolas may be safe from the Orcs and now among friends, but is he safe from his own mind and the darkness within? Trouble rears it ugly head in Edoras while miles away, Gondor prepares for war against Mordor.
1. Forming upon the Falling

Disclaimer: I own everything!!!!!! Legolas is my *coughcough* personal trainer *coughcough*, Aragorn is my live-in grease monkey, Arwen is my scullery wench, while Gandalf is my electrician and lighting consultant. The twins reside in my office where they act as bookends, Haldir, Rúmil and Orophin of Lothlórien are on chains outside and are my guard dogs, Thranduil is my drunken-gold-digging father-in-law, Boromir of Gondor is my pincushion and Faramir is my pet rock. Elrond is the pizza guy from down the road, Saruman is my fortune teller and the owner of; "Saruman's Hotline, how may I see you?" Frodo I use instead of a mop, Sam is my cook and Merry and Pippin are my own personal stand up comedians. Galadriel is my manicurist, Gimli the bouncer of my flashy uptown club, the Ringwraiths are the local door to door salesman with heroin addictions and Figwit in the leader of the Mary-Sue army that is assembled outside my bedroom window. Sauron is the local neighborhood watch while Denethor is the crazy guy who lives in a box in the vacant lot next door. The Balrog is the substitute that my circus uses instead of a tiger, the army of the dead are what the stupid little kids next door are going to become if they don't shut the hell up, and the Lord of the Eagles is my personal fan. Glorfindel is the horse whisper that helped me after a riding accident, Isildur is the person that everybody uses as a punching bag when they walk past, Bilbo is the kleptomaniac of the street and Lurtz is my hairdresser. I am a man, have a son and am writing this from beyond the grave.  
  
Now, if for one moment you believe even a word of that then I must ask, did you by chance purchase anything small, round and tablet looking from nine door to door salesmen within the last couple of hours??  
  
Ok, as you may be able to tell already, I have gone through a major/small rewrite of this story. I say major/small as there is still a lot that I want to fix about it or expand upon, but this is the best that I can do at the moment. This also means that I am cutting out a lot of the crap at the top and bottom of the chapters and just generally tidying things up a bit.  
  
*****  
  
"All I see is the beginning and the destination, what lies between is a path not yet traveled, and contains moments that have not yet come to pass. For even the ending I do not know, I am but a slave to the power of my fingers and the incomplete thoughts in the deep recesses of my mind."  
  
*****  
  
Shadows Within, Darkness Without  
  
Chapter One  
  
Forming upon the Falling  
  
*****  
  
Legolas paced back and forth under the shade of a large golden leafed tree. The fellowship's arrival at Lothlórien had done little to ease his troubled thoughts and he found that with each passing day, he became more and more aware of a dark shadow over the company's heads.  
  
'Or is it in my imagination? Nay, the feeling of doom is great, and seems to linger over Boromir and yet I feel it over myself as well. Or is it just over me?'  
  
As he continued to pace he became aware of a presence lurking in the shadows of the forest over to the right. He listened harder, and finally making up his mind, he lunged forward and grabbed the intruder in a movement faster then the eye could see. Pulling the eves-dropper out of the bushes and shoving it against a tree trunk Legolas pushed his knuckles into the stranger's throat with force that was just short of crushing the windpipe, causing the figure to gulp in air desperately.  
  
"L...o'as?" The stunned figure managed to choke out just as Legolas saw who the figure was.  
  
"Gimli? What brings you to lurk in the bushes?" Legolas demanded as he dropped his lethal grip on the dwarf. The elf glared at the dwarf impatiently, he had no time for the bickering that was bound to come and quietly wished that he had indeed crushed his throat. But there was a strange look in the dwarf's eyes that Legolas could not quite fathom and he quickly banished all thoughts of ill towards the dwarf from his questioning mind.  
  
Gimli looked at Legolas.  
  
'Something troubles him,' he thought as he noticed the frown upon his fair- featured face. As he studied the Elf's features he became aware of a slight flare in Legolas' eyes directed towards the dwarf. Gimli knew that his face bore the same expression yet it was vital that he talked to Legolas, for the fellowships' sake, but he knew not where to start. "I was not lurking, I was observing." He stated with a slight laugh, in hopes of opening a friendly conversation.  
  
"Observing what?" Legolas asked, his tone showed that he too was glad for the slight change in their attitude. "An Elf pacing? You could see that anywhere these days."  
  
"Yes, I wished to see an Elf troubled. And I could not see it anywhere else as I would have been arrested." Gimli replied, keeping up the banter that was constantly exchanged between them only this time in a happier mood.  
  
"Come now master Gimli, 'tis not the true reason you are here. Be out with it." Legolas stated in a commanding tone yet adding a slight jest. "Or would you have us stand here all day and come not to a true reason?"  
  
"Oh very well," Gimli sighed reluctantly, "I wished to consult you on the actions of Boromir."  
  
At this Legolas felt his senses tense. 'How is it that Gimli knows? He must have sensed it in Boromir, or in me,' Legolas thought, hiding his initial reaction away from the eyes of the dwarf. 'What shall I do? Do I let him know that I have seen it for some time now, or do I pretend that I have no knowledge of the subject?' The Elf had just made up his mind to go with the latter when Gimli again spoke.  
  
"Do not try to hide the fact that you know, as it will do no good. I may be a dwarf, yet I know of the abilities of the Elves, and know that since I have noticed it now, you must have known all along." Gimli stated, trying to ease his companion's mind. 'Why did he tense at the mention of the subject?' He pondered, 'Surely he must know, I have felt it so he must have.'  
  
Legolas' mind worked as quickly as his reflexes had just done trying to find the appropriate thing to say. 'What could I possibly say? And to a dwarf? He would not understand the feeling of dread and the warning signs.' He soon decided that the best response would be anything as long as it was of little words and gave away nothing. "What of the subject, Master Gimli?"  
  
"Fair enough, Master Legolas," The dwarf replied without the slightest bit of mimicry. 'Why was Legolas being so secretive?' Indeed they quarrel, yet it was for the good of the fellowship that he spoke this question, not for any self-gain. "If you will not speak of it to me, you being the one that knows the greater deal of the situation, then I shall not push the subject, only beg of you to say something to Aragorn at least." He pleaded, looking at the obviously troubled Elf, who had been staring out into the distance the entire time. Gimli broke his gaze as the look on Legolas' face caused him to worry. Never had he seen him so distant and troubled, not even in the Mines of Moria after the death of Gandalf.  
  
'Could he be sick?' Gimli asked himself, 'Nay, as elves do not get sick.' He remembered. 'Perchance it is something worse, like this broken heart illness that I have often heard the elves refer to since I have met them. But why? Would not it have set in earlier if  
  
it had been caused by Gandalfs' untimely death?' He finally decided to query the Even prince on the subject. 'The worst that can happen is he gets offended, but it's not like we are friends as it is. And if I am right than I might be able to help him, even if he is an Elf.'  
  
"Master Elf, what is it that ails you?" He asked while studying Legolas' face for any hint of the truth, knowing that he would conceal what ever it was at all costs. 'Elves and their pride,' he thought, 'it will see them destroyed!' As he waited for Legolas to tell him to mind his own business, he was quite surprised to see a smile form at the corners of Legolas' mouth.  
  
"For someone who claims to know the abilities of the Elves, you do not know much," he laughed, "my kind do not get ill."  
  
"Nay, I feared it was something else, something I have picked up on in my short time in the company of the fair folk, something that men refer to as to die of a broken heart." At this Legolas drew in a rugged breath which gave Gimli more reason to be concerned. 'Why am I so fretful?' He questioned himself. 'For he is an Elf and I am a dwarf, his kind are nothing to mine but our rivals. Yet he is a member of the fellowship and has proven himself many a time, even in saving my life at the crossing of the bridge of Khazad-dûm. There is no way I could not be slightly concerned, I suppose, if not more.' He concluded as Legolas' voice came to his ears.  
  
"Nay. It is not that weakness that haunts me, too many of my kind have suffered and perished from that." He stated in a weary tone of voice. He then turned towards Gimli, who was still watching him, and Legolas picked up on the feeling that he was worried and did not believe him. "Fear not for me, as I would not lie about that, even to you. But do not tell me that you feel concern for me, as that would be pure foolishness. Do you not recall our war of wills?"  
  
"I do not forget, but I would like to try," Gimli confessed, and at the startled look on Legolas' face quickly added, "For the sake of the fellowship."  
  
A slight laugh escaped Legolas as he spoke. "Aye, I too would like to forget our differences, even if it is only for the fellowship, which I fear needs us to do so."  
  
At this Gimli looked up with a questioning glance. 'What did he mean that the fellowship needed them to get along? Was it in more danger than he perceived?'  
  
"And yes," Legolas continued. "I have been aware of the change in Boromir for a long time now, though I fear to say anything as I have had no proof of my suspicions and feel that I can not explain them with ease. Even to Aragorn."  
  
"Do try Legolas, for the sake of the fellowship and our new found alliance. Try the best you can and we can see what to make of it between us."  
  
Legolas pushed his lips together in a thin line, revealing his dismay in a show of discomposure unnatural for the Elf. Again he stared out in to the distance and Gimli saw him draw in a deep breath and close his eyes in an attempt to concentrate. Gimli stood silent and watched, eventually turning his eyes on the forest as well, not wanting to push Legolas to say anything he did not agree to. Finally he heard the soft voice of the prince break into his thoughts and he quickly turned to face his companion.  
  
"Yes. There has been something wrong with Boromir for a long time." He restated. "I fear I have noticed it since we attempted to cross Caradhras and have not said anything. I have no idea if Aragorn knows, I feel he should but alas I believe that he has many more worries and may have overlooked the situation."  
  
"What is it that eats at him, Legolas?"  
  
"That is why I have not voiced my thoughts as, as of yet as I regret that I do not rightly know. Yet everything I feel tells me that he is burdened by the thing in Frodos' protection, the very thing we have been sent to destroy."  
  
"The Rin--" Gimli started.  
  
"Hush Master Gimli, not even here is it wise to speak those words of evil. Though I do believe that 'tis that which plagues him, something tells me that it is deeper than that, and alas I feel." His voice trailed off as he looked over the forest that he loved so much.  
  
Gimli waited for him to continue, but it became obvious that he had no intention to. 'Why will he not tell my all he knows? Is it that dangerous?' he thought, and resolved to probe further.  
  
"You need not hide your thoughts, Master elf, as I will share them with no other."  
  
"Nay Gimli, 'tis just that--oh I don't know," he started to try to explain yet came to a standstill. 'How do I tell him that I feel that somehow I'm more involved in this darkness than any one of them? And how would he react?' Legolas decided to come out with it as fast as he could. "I feel a darkness over me as well. Something that is somehow linked to that which hovers over Boromir. I know not how to describe it to you as I know not what it is myself, yet I constantly feel it there, and more with each passing day." He paused and was aware that Gimli was studding him closely, though he chose to ignore his stare and continued. "I know that I do not lust after that which Boromir does, and I know that I never would. But it is there nonetheless, even though I know it to be different to that which hovers over Boromir, I sense it growing as his grows." He paused for a moment and then trying to change the tone of his voice to a happier note said, "there, I'm out with it. Do you think me to be not in my right mind?"  
  
For some time Gimli just stood there and took a moment to take it all in. 'What does he mean by this, that there is a shadow over him? And what does Boromir have to contribute to this problem?' He looked at his newly found friend and again noticed the strange expression that Legolas had been wearing the last couple of days that was so uncommon to the Elves. 'It must be truly troubling him,' he thought, 'as I have not seen him so quiet since I have know him. And one would think that he would be overjoyed in this place of Elves and trees, but he seems distant.' At long last he spoke, his voice surprisingly quiet and calm.  
  
"I know not what you speak of Legolas, and I have no real way of seeing it the way you do, But I feel, even though we have fought most of this journey, that you would not take the Ring, even though I often clam that the Elves would, and that I still do not doubt. But I know you to be true and good and would not think of such a dangerous and treacherous thing. Yet if you feel something, then alas it must be true." While he was speaking he continued to watch Legolas and study his reactions to what he was saying, to his surprise the Elf barely moved a muscle and kept staring into the distance. "If you ask me, I say that it is not that you should do something as it is that Boromir may do something to you, knowing that your are the likely one to try to stop him." With that Legolas finally looked down at the dwarf and a slight smile spread across his face.  
  
"I hope you are right." He stated concisely.  
  
"Alas, for I hope we are both wrong, for if I am right then it is not only Frodo who has need for concern from within the fellowship." Gimli told Legolas. After awhile of silence between them it was Gimli that first broke spoke. "Come friend; let's not dwell on things that have not yet come to pass. We should enjoy the safely and no need for haste while we still can."  
  
"Indeed! Let us go," came Legolas' reply as he turned to Gimli and they slowly walked away together as friends for the first time.  
  
*****  
  
Days passed, and as the company left the shelter of Lothlórien their hearts once again became heavy. None were aware of precisely how much time they had spent there but all felt sorry to leave. The Lady Galadriel and her husband Lord Celeborn had seen them off with a great feast and merrymaking.  
  
The fellowship was supplied with cloaks and hoods, each woven to the size of the bearer. It was hard to say what colour they were, sometimes grey and something green and each was fastened at the neck by a brooch of a green leaf intertwined with silver. For each member of the fellowship the Lady Galadriel had a gift: Aragorn received a sheath made for his sword, to Legolas she gave a bow fashioned in the style of Lothlórien, such as the Galadhrim carried as it was longer and stouter then the one he carried form Mirkwood. It was strung of Elf-hair and a quiver of arrows accompanied it. Boromir received a belt of gold while Merry and Pippin both received smaller belts of silver. Sam received a wooden box with the rune G upon its lid containing earth from Lothlórien. She then tuned to Gimli and, at his request cut three golden hairs from her head for the dwarf to treasure. Last to receive a gift from the Lady of Light was Frodo and to him she gave a small crystal phial containing the light of Eärendil's star that would prove to be light when he most needed it.  
  
Sadly the company were taken to the three boats the Elves of Lórien had provided for them and arranged themselves; Aragorn, Sam and Frodo in one, Legolas, Gimli and most of the luggage in the last and Boromir, Merry and Pippin in the middle boat.  
  
With that they were off again, heading down the Great River to almost sure doom.  
  
Legolas, who had tried to keep his heart light, felt stronger now then ever the unmentionable presence of the shadow that hovered over the fellowship, and the warning in his heart told him that it was hanging heavily over him more then the others. Yet to his strange relief he and Gimli had been becoming the best of friends and he had kept his promise not to tell of Legolas' thoughts and concerns.  
  
It was a strange friendship indeed, and the others were amazed by their new attitude towards each other, Boromir especially was happy to not to have to be the one to settle any arguments that the two used to have. Even the Elves of Lothlórien had been shocked to see the friendship between one of their kinsmen and a dwarf, their rivals, especially after their initial hatred when they had first arrived. The entire company was relieved to have peace in the fellowship, except Legolas and Gimli knew it was not true and rowed on with heavy hearts.  
  
Gimli, while being happy of his new found friendship with Legolas, was worried about his friend as he seemed to be sinking deeper and deeper into despair. While he had not mentioned the shadow again, Gimli knew that he still felt it and that it was a powerful weight on the Elf's' mind and heart. But time soon showed that Legolas was not one to be fussed or worried over and would not say anything that was on his mind.  
  
"What is it that troubles you friend? Is it still as we discussed?" Gimli had once asked.  
  
"Aye, it is and the feeling is getting stronger," was all he said.  
  
"Do you think we should tell Aragorn?"  
  
"Nay, as I fear he has enough on his mind. Gandalf's death hit him harder than any of us, even if he does not show it and now he has the role of our leader. I want not to worry him over my foolish suspicions." He replied while looking over at Aragorn in one of the other boats. He did not want to overburden him with something that he could handle himself. Legolas though he looked tired and strained, and he could see by the expression on his face that he was still grieving for the loss of his old friend.  
  
Yet, unbeknown to Legolas, at the same time he was thinking that of Aragorn, Gimli was thinking the same on him, yet the dwarf decided not query the Elf any further. 'I am sure he has his reasons,' he thought. 'And I should not question them. Yet why do I fear the way Legolas talks about this? Because I know that he will not sit by and do nothing, that's why.' He answered his own question. 'And I fear that if Boromir knows that Legolas is watching him he might do something rash, at least that would explain the shadow over Legolas, his doom at the hands of a corrupted man. I fear that it may be too big a task for him to take on alone.' And with this he made a mental note to keep an eye on both Boromir and the Elven member of the group.  
  
At the tenth day of their journey the company still followed the river, and as the day drew to an end and the darkness of night started to creep upon them, still they rowed. Legolas and Gimli were soon in line with Aragorn's boat thanks to the Elf's constant stroke and it was then decided that they would once again have to rest for the night. They pulled on to the West Bank as all along the East side of the river they had heard the sounds of Orcs on the move and the hunt. Getting out of the boat's they carried them onto the shore and hid them behind the large boulders that lined the banks of the river. The boats where surprisingly light and were easy to handle when out of the water; another Elven quality.  
  
As the hobbits carried the packs over to a nice and easy to defend place to camp, Aragorn went scouting around the area. Legolas and Gimli started to walk over to the right while Boromir went to the left, looking for any danger.  
  
"Come Mr. Frodo, have something to eat and rest awhile." Sam called to his master and friend as he opened his pack to reveal the Lembas of the Elves. Frodo looked tired and ridden with grief yet he hastily obliged.  
  
"If you shall join me then I shall happily embrace food and rest." He replied with a smile as he walked slowly over to his three friends and they began to talk merrily.  
  
Gimli watched with interest. 'Here we are heading into danger and possibly death, with Legolas saying that there is something wrong in the fellowship and all they can think of is food!' A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth and he was about to turn to tell Legolas of this thought but when his eyes came to rest on the Elf's fair features he saw a frown. Gimli followed Legolas' gaze and what he saw was enough to banish all happy thoughts.  
  
Down yonder stood Boromir, gazing at Frodo's back, with a look that could kill. 'How is it that I had not noticed?' he questioned himself. Legolas still watched Boromir with careful and questioning eyes, and then much to Gimli's horror, Boromir turned and caught Legolas' watchfulness.  
  
Gimli's eyes darted to Legolas, who had been caught watching Boromir, and yet the prince held the man's gaze. Time stood still and Gimli could see the battle of their wills clearly before him, each not wanting to back down but each wanting to let the other know of their thoughts.  
  
Gimli cursed in his head that he knew not what Boromir thought of the situation and what he would do. The Elf and the man continued to stare each other down and the dwarf's mind raced. 'Why did I not keep a better look out and watched Legolas' back? Now I'm sure Boromir knows that at least Legolas realizes what is going on. What should I do?'  
  
Terrible thoughts ran through his head, thoughts of Boromir turning on the fellowship, or at least Legolas. 'What if he tries to attack my friend at night, when we sleep?' It was then that he felt the pain from his bruised neck from where Legolas had pushed in his knuckles and he felt slightly reassured.  
  
As he proceeded to watch this battle between the two he noticed that Frodo had seen the look on Legolas' face and looked around at Boromir nervously. It was then that Boromir, still glaring at Legolas slowly started to back away and with one quick movement turned his gaze and walked quickly into the bush. The Elf prince shot daggers into the man's back with his gaze and took no notice of Frodo who was trying to catch his eye.  
  
Gimli on the other hand locked eyes with Frodo, whose bright blue orbs desperately asked what was going on only Gimli made no attempt to say or imply anything, keeping true to his word. He turned to ask Legolas what had really happened, when it came to his attention the prince was in fact no longer standing next to him. A quick glance at Frodo revealed that he had in fact done off into the woods in the opposite direction. The dwarf went to follow his friend when he remembered that Aragorn was not there, and the hobbits should not be left alone. With that in mind he reluctantly made his way over to the four halflings, and with a quick look at Frodo, telling him not to ask anymore so not to alarm the other three, who remained oblivious.  
  
*****  
  
Legolas quietly walked among the trees and took in his surroundings though they did nothing to ease his mind. It was a horrible mistake that he had just made, to be caught by Boromir. He should have looked away and not done anything, yet he felt that he had to protect Frodo and the fellowship. 'Should I tell Aragorn? How could he not know, but he is no Elf, though sometimes I forget that, and he has his own troubles. Yet I ca not do this alone. No, I am not alone, I have Gimli's help, but he can not possibly understand what is truly happening. Alas, nor do I.'  
  
He wandered for a long time, trying to conclude the debate that was being played out in his head.  
  
He did not know how far he had walked but he soon became aware of the fall of footsteps coming his way. He peered into the woods only to find himself unable to see through the thick trees and so instead he stopped and listened. His heightened senses picked up on the fall of light feet, the pounding of a heart as it raced, letting the Elf know that his `prey' knew of his presence.  
  
He heard the draw and release of breath, and another sound, one that he knew all too well.  
  
The sound of an arrow being notched and the string being pulled, the bow bending with the force that was needed to release the wooden missile.  
  
It became obvious that he was now the prey, and with a quick and silent movement he notched is own bow. Planting his feet firmly on the ground he closed his eyes; knowing that he could see nothing anyway, and he found that it was a way of enlightening his senses even more.  
  
Slowly rotating the top half of his body to face the origin of the sounds and drawing back on the Elf-hair string, he silently waited and listened. A faint noise came from the direction  
  
his senses were focusing on and he was about to release his bow when. . he heard the whistling of an arrow flying through the air towards him. . .  
  
*****  
  
Tbc. . .  
  
Minka. 


	2. Out of Grace, Out of the Light

*****  
  
Shadows Within; Darkness Without  
  
Chapter Two  
  
Out Of Grace, Out Of The Light.  
  
*****  
  
The world runs on a song, a sting of notes that keeps everything together in both peace and harmony. It is entirely possible to hear these notes, as it is also possible to change them, whether it is intentional or not, but once changed, once altered there is no going back. What is done can not be undone just as what is foreseen many not always come to pass. This fragile balance sits upon a never ending blade, always going forward, but with one wrong step, one slip, the known world can plunge into darkness and despair, forcing the good and the masters of the song into shadows and away from the light.  
  
*****  
  
In a movement quicker then the eye could see, he gracefully threw himself to the right and, landing in a tumble turn, sprang nimbly to his feet to see the arrow protrude from a tree trunk that was directly behind where he once stood. Luckily it had been slowed down by the thickness of the bush or the out come would have been fatal. Yet who could disguise themselves so well from a wood-Elf?. 'Was it another Elf? Or something more sinister?'  
  
He stood his ground and held his notched arrow in the direction of his would be assassin, his forefinger against his tooth to steady his arm. As far as he could tell, the hunter was not aware of his escape and was making his way to where he stood.  
  
The prince remained where he was and waited, not wanting to shoot someone with out being certain of their identity. 'That's more than I can say for them,' he mused.  
  
The assassin stalked through the bushes, heading to where he was sure he had hit his target. As he came out of the thicket he noticed three things. One: his arrow was stuck in a tree, meaning that he had indeed not hit his target. A tall, lean figure could just be made out through the trees standing with a bow pointed directly at him, and finally, also being the most important of the three, was the fact that the figure was of an Elf. But not just any Elf, the Elf was Legolas.  
  
A flood of relief flowed through him at the sight of his friend, standing unhurt and very much alive, though he was startled that he had dodged his normally deadly aim. 'How is that possible?' He thought yet the only explanation that could come to him was the fact that Legolas was indeed an Elf and the forest would have warned him of the Rangers presence, but still it was amazing he not even injured! He was about to call out to the prince when he saw that the archer was in fact already walking towards him, bow slung over his shoulder and showing no sigh of fear. 'Keen are the eyes of the Elves,' he thought.  
  
"Aragorn." He heard Legolas' fair voice calling to him and the Ranger stepped out of his hiding place.  
  
"Only you could manage to scare me so." Laughed Aragorn. "You were like no other Orc that I have ever hunted!" At this Legolas let out a laugh despite himself and the troubles that were still in his head.  
  
"Aye, likewise to you, good Ranger."  
  
"It is lucky that the Elves have such keen eyes or you may have not seen my arrow!" Aragorn stated, deeply happy that he had missed his target.  
  
"Nay, I could not see a thing for all these trees, I heard you. Your breathing and heartbeat made enough noise to warn me when you were about to strike!" The Elf brushed off.  
  
"Nonetheless, I am deeply sorry." Aragorn offered, "And yet very glad that you are the better of us two, for you did not shoot before you saw. Alas, I fear that if you had, I would not be standing here talking with you now as I have not your skill." Aragorn took a slight bow of gratitude yet with a jesting smile on his face. Legolas tried to return the smile but found the incident with Boromir still fell heavy on his mind and his ability to make a happy expression.  
  
This Aragorn noticed and he found himself wondering again what it was that worried his friend he had known for so long. He had long noticed that the normally happy, lighthearted Elf was becoming quiet and withdrawn. 'Such is the way of the Elves when they are separated from their kind and forests,' he told himself, 'yet it does not explain the fact that he seemed even more distant in Lothlórien. I would have thought that that place would have lifted his spirits. The only thing that seemed to get even a little happiness from him was his newly found friendship with Gimli, a dwarf. He is a mystery indeed!' was all Aragorn could conclude. But recently, within the last few weeks he had picked up on something he could only guess at. Was it, or was it just his imagination, that he though that Legolas was weary of Boromir? 'It's insane!' he concluded, 'why would Legolas be afraid of Boromir? Or was Boromir afraid of Legolas?' Whatever way it went, he was sure that there was some tension between the two and he was going to find out.  
  
"Come friend, tell me what it is that troubles you?" Aragorn commanded gently. At the mention of this Legolas felt a tremor deep inside. 'Does Aragorn already know? If so, what do I say? And what exactly happened between Boromir and myself only a few hours ago?' No matter what he told Aragorn he had to say something soon or the Rangers suspicions would be confirmed.  
  
"I know not of what you speak." He said pithily, turning away to hide his eyes so not to be caught out.  
  
But this movement alone confirmed the Rangers suspicions and he asked further.  
  
"Do not play naive with me. You forget that I grew up with the Elves and not only can I sense things no man could, I can tell when an Elf is lying," he informed Legolas with a cheeky grin.  
  
Legolas knew he was right and that there was no point in not telling Aragorn, chances were he already knew, but did he know about the shadow over him? The Elf suddenly realized that Aragorn was watching his face closely and wore a worried expression.  
  
"Delay no longer, Master Elf, tell me what eats at you?" he commanded, then adding in a lighter tone so not to offend his friend. "If I knew not any better, I would say you were sick."  
  
"Nay, not sick, just troubled." Legolas replied, wondering why everyone thought that about him. Gimli could be understood, but Aragorn of all people should know that the Elves did not get sick, and that Legolas had no real reason to be dying of grief. "Something draws near, I can feel it." Legolas stated brevity.  
  
"Aye! Orcs hunt and gather all around us, mainly on the east bank." Aragorn informed the prince.  
  
"Nay, `tis not that." Legolas started, yet tarried to continue.  
  
"What do you mean?" questioned the confused Ranger, not quite able to fathom what the Elf was holding back on. He noted that Legolas held himself differently, a very slight difference, but it was indeed a difference, which was not a good sign.  
  
"Surly you must have noticed?" cried a startled Legolas realizing that this could be harder then he had originally thought. "You must have noticed the way that Boromir looks on the Ring bearer? The way he craves the power that it would bring him and how he has been corrupted?"  
  
"Yes, indeed I have, but obviously not as strong as you," Aragorn defended himself. He had long seen the way that Boromir acted and the glint within his eyes yet he thought he was the only one. "I thought it might pass over him, as I am not convinced that he knows what he is doing or feeling. But alas, I should have known you would pick it up, and I suppose Gimli knows too?"  
  
"Indeed he does, it was the very basis for our friendship! Yet I asked him to say nothing of it for the good of the fellowship, but with each passing day the dark cloud gets heavier over Boromir's head and settles with him easier." Knowing that this was the moment of truth, Legolas frantically attempted to weigh up the pros and cons of telling Aragorn of what he felt over his own head, lingering there like a snow cloud to a high mountain peak.  
  
Looking to the ranger and seeing the stubborn look upon his face, Legolas quickly decided that his secret was best kept to himself and Gimli for the time being.  
  
"I to have seen this, I only hope that he can control himself, and I have no doubt that he can, at least for a little while longer, then if it need be I shall do whatever is needed. But for the time we need all the help we can get!" Aragorn replied wisely, and yet Legolas could not bring himself to see beyond the trap that trusting the man left open for them all to stumble into.  
  
"But for now," Aragorn continued, looking the Elf right in the eyes, "do nothing but watch and listen, we do not wish to let him know we are on to his little game, that is if he knows that he indeed is playing." At this Legolas again cursed himself for being caught earlier, but decided not to trouble Aragorn any further and remanded silent.  
  
"Come now," Aragorn stated with a smile, "Let's go back to the others and rest."  
  
*****  
  
That night Legolas spent the time in watchful silence, hardly even talking to Gimli. In true travelers style they drew blades of grass to see who had first watch, and having been decided that Legolas shall sit first, the others went to sleep.  
  
In truth the Elf like the thought of being on first watch as it gave he time to think and did not cut into his sleep later in the night. He sat on a boulder off to the left of the fellowship from where he could see into the forest, the east side of the bank and up and down the banks of the river. All in all it was the perfect place for a sentry to sit.  
  
The time passed slowly as the prince sat unmoving, thinking of all that had happened. Thoughts of Gandalf's death came to his mind, in truth they never really left but he pushed them back, not wanting the grief. But no matter how hard he tried there was this little notion in his head, telling him that maybe; just maybe he could have done something to help him. That if he had been quicker he might have been able to grab him, or at least try like Aragorn did. But he hadn't, he had stood there and held back the others, while their two leaders risked life and death. 'I stood there! I let him fall!' Thoughts ran through his head, dangerous and dark thoughts, ones' that could not be stopped or overcome and yet, with all the willpower that he possessed he pushed them back once more. Now was not the time to grieve over things long past for he had even more of a responsibility now, one that he could not fail in carrying out.  
  
The hours passed by and finally the time came to awaken the next sentry: Boromir. Legolas walked over to the sleeping man without making a noise and gently stirred him from his sleep. No words were spoken between the two and as Legolas went to take up his position, near the trees as it reminded him of home, he caught Boromir's glance linger a little bit longer on Frodo than any other of the companions. Legolas quickly banished all thoughts off ill, and told himself that the man of Gondor was merely checking up on the Ring bearer. But why did the prince not believe it?  
  
As hard as he tried, sleep did not come to the archer; not even a slight form of his dream world showed itself. Instead he lay there watching the stars as they burned, ever so slowly coming to there end.  
  
It was then that Legolas felt the wind upon his face being pushed ever so slightly in an unnatural way. 'Something moves!' he thought, while listening for the sound of movement, and then, sure enough, the fall of footsteps. Only one set, yet heavy and with purpose. He moved his eyes slightly, not wanting to let the intruder know that he heard it. To his relief the Elf saw that it was in fact Boromir - but what was he doing?  
  
Boromir was trying to walk quietly into the forest, leaving his post behind. The Elf waited patiently for a few moments and until Boromir was out of earshot before he slightly pushed himself off the ground and walked lightly over to the sleeping form of Gimli.  
  
Having learned from past, almost deadly encounters, the Elf restrained his friend's right hand and used his free hand as a clamp over the dwarf's mouth. Legolas then shook him slightly and as Gimli's body tensed, the prince pushed down on his arm. The strength of Gimli's arm trying to reach his axe startled Legolas, but it was still no match for the Elf. The dwarf's eyes slowly came open and recognition came over him when he saw Legolas looking down on him. Slowly releasing his friends arm, the Elf held his fingers to his lips for silence.  
  
"Stay here and keep guard." The elf spoke softly, springing up and leaving before Gimli had time to reply.  
  
Legolas reached the edge of the forest and peered in. He could just see the colour of Boromir's tunic as he disappeared between the trees. With steps that left no print let alone caused a sound the prince followed the man, wanting to know what it was that he was doing.  
  
Boromir came to a clearing and began pacing from end to end, cursing under his breath. Legolas watched, unsure if he should alert the man of his presence or to stay hidden in the safety of the trees. Finally he decided, and with a faint sigh, entered the clearing.  
  
"Boromir, what is it that you do out here?" he asked boldly, "and why is it that you leave your post as guard?"  
  
"Legolas!" Boromir let out a sigh, though he did not seem to be entirely shocked that the Elf had followed him. "Good are the ears of the Elves if you heard me leave even in sleep."  
  
"Nay. I was not asleep. Again I ask why you left your post?" The Elf persisted, wanting to know what it was that ate at the man. Boromir's eyes flared at the demanding tone Legolas used on him and he fought to conceal his facial expressions.  
  
"I only seek solitude, Master Elf," he said in a sugary voice.  
  
"And you found none while on watch?" Legolas challenged him. Leaving the watch was a horrible betrayal, what if they had been attacked and had no time to respond?  
  
"Nay, for the feeling that I was not alone in my thoughts," Boromir's voice hardened as he glared at the Elf, his statement well understood by the prince who for the second time that day held his stare.  
  
A sudden and unexpected feeling of panic rose inside the man and with strange realization he found that he grew weary of what was to come. "Come, let us return to camp where I shall resume my watch, and you may find sleep," he stated, making a move to leave the clearing.  
  
"Daro!" Legolas called, and Boromir, detecting the princely tone in Legolas' voice knew what the command was even though he did not understand the language. "There has been something I have been meaning to ask you for some time now Boromir." Legolas could not believe that he was voicing this, especially to the person his suspicions accused and when Aragorn had only just warned him not to say anything.  
  
"And what would that be, my Prince?" Boromir asked in a mocking voice, angry for being spoken to like an Elf under Legolas' command or even worse a servant. The man turned and faced the Elf with a look of defiance in his eyes, "what is it that you think I would share with you?"  
  
"I feel it Boromir!" Legolas said, letting his eyes convey what his true meaning was for the time being. When Boromir only looked at the Elf as if he were out of his mind, Legolas went on, never breaking eye contact with the Gondorian man. "I feel how the darkness hovers over you and how it eats at you from inside. I know what it is that you seek and want, and I will not let it come to pass. Nor will I let you be the one to bring about the destruction of the fellowship as you can not control yourself!"  
  
Boromir snickered at the Elf words, not feeling the slightest bit threatened by the lean being that stood before him. "Tell me, prince, what is it that I seek? Humor me! Look into my soul as did Galadriel and see what you can see." Legolas stood motionless and silent, not knowing what to say to such a dare. "What? Can you not see? Tell me what eats at me!" Boromir's voice reached high, the words being followed by their echoes from around the clearing.  
  
Legolas strained to hold his compositor as Boromir's mood took a turn for the worse. With a deep breath he raised his head so that he looked down upon the man and began. "I know that you want the Ring, that you stare knives into the back of the hobbit. You are waiting for your chance; you have been all along. You never once pledged your sword at Rivendell, you came only to wait for the moment that you could claim what you believe is yours!" Boromir tensed up and glared at the Elf, and Legolas knew that his suspicions were indeed right. "Yet you still fight it, the call, that is why you came here is it not? To rid yourself of the temptation to take the thing that Frodo carries, to try and block out the pull the Ring has on you. Am I not right?"  
  
Boromir just stood there and watched the Elf he though he had known, the quiet withdrawn being that had accompanied them. He had not seen Legolas like this since the council of Elrond and he still clearly remembered the look that Legolas had shot him that day.  
  
*****Flashback*****  
  
"And what does a Ranger know of this land's plight?" Boromir had asked while turning on Aragorn.  
  
"This is no mere Ranger!" Legolas had been quick to reply, while leaping gracefully to his feet and shooting the man a deadly glare. "He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn!"  
  
The shock on Boromir's face was evident as he turned back to look at the human with disbelief. "This is Isildur's heir?"  
  
"And the rightful heir to the throne of Gondor! You own him your allegiance!"  
  
*****End Flashback*****  
  
Boromir saw that same wave of defiance and strength in Legolas now and knew it was hopeless to deny the accusation. "And if I did come here to avoid it? are you still in mind to judge so quickly?" he hissed at the prince.  
  
Shaking his head in hopelessness, Legolas stepped slightly forward and bit gently at his bottom lip. "Do you not see?" he asked, his blue eyes shining with hope, "If you came here to rid yourself of the temptation, then there is hope left for you!"  
  
"And yet if I did not, then I am to be forsaken?" Boromir asked venomously while pointing out Legolas' bad choice in words. "Am I to be despised as Isildur was for his want to help him land and people? Is that how you would twist this, Legolas?"  
  
"Nay!" Legolas cried in defense of his statement and his honor, "I do not and would not seek to turn this against you and you know as well as I that I did not mean my words like that!"  
  
"Of course not!" Boromir stated with a sarcastic smile, "you do not mean anything that you do, do you Legolas?" Taking the upper hand of the argument, Boromir started to slowly circle around the suddenly put off Elf, looking him up and down with a blazing glare. "You," he spat, "you were the only one of us that stood a chance, and you know that?"  
  
Brow creasing in confusion, Legolas went to turn towards the man only to find that the human walked the other way, keeping out of sight of the Elf. "Boromir," Legolas started his voice unwavering even in his new found fear, "I do not know what you are talk ab-"  
  
"Do not sing that tune, Legolas, it is unbecoming of you," the man chuckled out at the obvious discomfort in the Elf. "You had what was needed to save him and yet you did nothing! You let Gandalf fall!"  
  
The effect of his words was stronger then if the man had hit him in the face. Sucking in a quick breath of air and lowering his eyes, Legolas tried to block out the repetition of the words as they played over and over in his head, fusing with those that his own mind provoked him with.  
  
"Yes Legolas, that was your fault!" Boromir sneered, "and what's more, you know it! you know that you could have saved him, that you could have done something. . .I see it in your eyes!" he said, using Legolas' own words against him. "You let us all down by not doing what you-"  
  
"Darota!" Legolas yelled, his eyes flaming and yet his face blank of all emotion. "Just stop it! I know that I failed, Boromir, I know that! I have to live with that everyday. Why else do you think that I want to help you? Do you think that I am here for the pure satisfaction of it? For the fun in watching the Ring tear you apart as my own weakness does me? That is why I am here, that is why I want to help you with this as I know how it feels to know that I have let everyone down!" Taking in a shaking breath, Legolas attempted to left his anger settle within him and to make his eyes a little more friendlier towards the human.  
  
"And your form of help would be to see the Ring destroyed without my people benefiting from it?" he shot back.  
  
"It must be, for the good of everyone in Middle-earth." T he anger was boiling up inside him, making his words come quicker and quicker to his tongue so that there was barely even a moments pause between each heated sentence.  
  
"Ha! An Elf talking about others like they matter? You Elves don't care! I see no army of Elves to fight off the Dark Lord, for you all hide in your forests and live the lives of self-acclaimed exulted beings!"  
  
"Hold your tongue and speak not of what you do not fathom!" The prince bit back the want to say more, using he last ounces of self-control that he possessed.  
  
"Look around you, Legolas!" Boromir shouted while waving his arms in no direction in particular. "You Elves are a dying and forgotten race that care for nothing but yourselves and your trees! When the Dark Lord comes who will Middle-earth turn to for help? The Hobbits? Ha! Most know not of their existence and even if they were known, they could do nothing. Nay, it will be the men of Gondor that the people will cry to. It will be me that they seek, not your people, not anyone else. Me! So why des-"  
  
"Nay! It would not be you. It would be Aragorn, the rightful king of Gondor! Not you!" The Elf's eyes blazed in his hate as he once again defended his old friend.  
  
"You delude yourself Legolas; you fill your own head with impractical dreams of simple folk. Aragorn would never be king; he has neither the heart nor the will for such a task! He is too Elven for his own good and the blood of old has long polluted his veins - he will never be king!"  
  
"I would rather fill my head with dreams of what you would call a lost cause than that of the words of the Dark Lord himself!" Legolas stated clamorously. "And Aragorn WILL be king, whether you like it or not, and it will be he that we will all turn to - both men and Elves alike for what you see as weak blood is the one thing that can unite and save both races! No one will place their hope and survival on some blabbing man consumed by the darkness of the very evil that we are trying to fight!" Tightening his jaw the prince looked own at the other man, seeing the anger flash in Boromir's eyes. "Le selma lanta a selmaor orta a en na lá annat le Lótessë eitna ahya tana!" Seeing further annoyance flash in Boromir's face from the use of the Elven words that he could not comprehend, Legolas smiled triumphantly before translating them with a smirk. "You will fall and he will rise and there is not a thing that you may do to change that!"  
  
Boromir felt the blind anger roar up inside of him and he could no hold himself back against the Elf any longer. With a shout, he launched himself at the Elven prince, a twisted expression of rage on his face. He pulled no weapon, just relied on his hands, going for the Elf's thin throat.  
  
Legolas, taken back by Boromir's sudden explosion, let out a startled cry as the man lunged at him. Quickly jumping to the side, the Elf found that he was not quite quick enough as Boromir connected with the prince's shoulder, sending them both flying backward to the ground.  
  
Hitting the ground, Legolas felt the wind knock out if his lungs as he jarred his back with the force of the impact. His head had collided with something hard, but luckily not hard enough to cause any damage.  
  
Boromir fell face down, on top of the left side of the Elf, pinning him down. He quickly reached with his left hand to grab Legolas by the right, but the Elf was too quick for him.  
  
Legolas grabbed Boromir's left arm, and using all his strength he bent the man's arm behind his back, causing him need to roll. Then shoving himself to the left, he switched their positions, nailing Boromir to the forest floor and ramming his knuckles into his throat as he had done to Gimli.  
  
The man cried out in both pain and surprise as he had not thought the slender Elf to be so strong. He struggled under the prince yet to no avail; Legolas' grip held tight and firm.  
  
Boromir looked up into the Elf's eyes and was surprised to see what he though to be a glint horror; never before had he seen the Elf scared. It then occurred to the man that the prince was not paying much attention to him, but had focused his concentration on the surrounding forest.  
  
Legolas had successfully pinned the man down when he noticed a disturbance in the forest, one that the trees hated and feared. As he listened he was aware of Boromir trying to shrug out of his hold, so he merely pushed down harder on the man's throat, silencing him and keeping him still.  
  
The forest sang, but not the happy song that bonded the universe together in both life and death, but a song of fear and doom. Slowly, Legolas was able to pick up on the notes, to see and hear what the trees heard.  
  
Orcs!  
  
Having established this, he turned his gaze back to Boromir, and with a look that told the man not to move he hesitantly started to release the pressure on Boromir's throat. Legolas leaned down close to the man's ear, his guard up in case the human tried anything, and whispered one word that spread more fear through Boromir then that of the Elf.  
  
The man looked up startled and, forgetting his hate for a moment, searched for answers in his better's eyes, only to see that there were none to be found, as Legolas too seemed to be as startled.  
  
Pushing himself off the form of Boromir, Legolas stood tall, awaiting more news from the trees, yet none was to come. He looked down at Boromir and with a gesture of his head the man stood and they both started to sneak back to camp.  
  
Just then black feathered arrows flew from the trees in front of the company. Legolas and Boromir threw themselves to the ground in order to dodge the shafts and, while Boromir unsheathed his sword Legolas crawled towards the direction of the Orcs. Cursing himself for not bringing his bow, Legolas pulled out his two Elven-blades, and holding one in each hand, jumped up and flew forward, engaging the Orcs as they spilled out into the clearing.  
  
*******  
  
To Be Continued...  
  
Btw...I know that the chances of Legolas leaving without his bow is VERY slim, but humor me! And plus, it makes what I have in stall for him all the more horrific!  
  
Minka 


	3. River of Blood, Sea of Redemption

*******

Shadows Within; Darkness Without.

Part three.

River of Blood, Sea of Redemption. 

*******

_Choices are made all the time, some bad, some good. What we don't realize is that while our choices shape our own fate, it also reflects on those around us, dragging them down a path not chosen by them, and when darkness creeps up, tightening its' hand about the throat of a close friend, redemption is sort out. All redemption comes at a high price, one that is sometimes too high for one to bare and the affected beings fade out of existence and into the stars. _

*******

Gimli sat in silence wondering what it was that Boromir had gone to do and why did Legolas follow the man.  He had been thinking on the subject for some time now, and yet could do naught to answer such questions with such minimal knowledge.  

Finally, his head gave into his heart and he walked over to awaken Aragorn. As the Ranger came to, they both heard the startled cry of Legolas from far off in the woodland. The two companions jumped to their feet, which woke the others.

"What is it?" Frodo asked sleepily.

"Shh!" Aragorn hushed them before they could make anymore noise. The Ranger looked into the forest listening.  Since Legolas' initial cry he had heard nothing else, and that scared him. '_Is Legolas ok? Where was he and what ill had befallen him? And more importantly, was it at the hands of Boromir?'_

"Nay!" he said out loud. He knew his friend well and if by some chance Boromir had tried anything the Elf would be easily able to win, even if he was distracted. These thoughts brought him a glimmer of hope as he started to move to the edge of the forest, the others close behind. 

It was then that a sound came to all of them, one that shook the very foundations of their hopes. 

The sound of the Horn of Gondor.

*******

The clearing was fast becoming filled, both of the dead Orcs and that of the ones that came to take their place in the fight. Legolas darted amongst the beasts', slashing with his blades, while Boromir stood his ground allowing the Orcs to come to him. The two fought bravely and killed swiftly but they were out numbered by far.

Legolas was slowly making his way towards the archers, wanting to take them out of the equation when three Orcs came at him from all directions. He ducked a sharp edged sword and stabbed upwards with one of his bow-knives, catching the Orc in the gut. With his other blade he swiped at the legs of another and it fell to the ground, withering in pain. He sliced its throat and moved on to the last one and with a graceful spin he came in behind it and stabbed the Orc through the back. It was then that a welcomed sound filled his ears. Boromir had taken to his horn.  The great sound escaped the fine features of the object would have to be enough to awaken the others. 

With a quick look over his shoulder to where Boromir fought, and a nod from the man, Legolas once again set off in the direction of the bowmen.

*******

"Orcs!" hissed Gimli.

"Aye! Orcs." Aragorn started to grab two of the packs that lay on the ground.

"Hey, what are you going with my pack?" Sam cried while belting on his knife and looking on the Ranger as if he were insane.

"Take them. Frodo, you must leave!" the Ranger said while shoving the hobbits' packs at them and pushing them to the boats.

"W-what are you doing Aragorn?" Frodo stuttered. "Legolas and Boromir need our help!"

"Nay, they do not need your help, they need you to destroy the ring. You must make hast." And with that he continued to push the two hobbits to the boat before they could protest any further.

"What about us?" came Pippin's voice from behind. He stood there next to Merry, both looking on in disbelief. Aragorn shot a glance towards Frodo and saw in his eyes that he only wanted Sam to accompany him, not wishing to lead the others into such danger.

"You will come and aid us in the fight. I want no more question or complaints as we do not have the time!" he turned back to Frodo and Sam. "Take care my friends and I hope that we shall meet again." With that he led them to a boat and saw them off. 

Merry and Pippin stood, looking shocked and not knowing what to do, so they merely waved solemnly at their departing friends. With one last look at the hobbits rowing over to the other side of the bank Aragorn then spoke. "Come now Master Gimli, lets make hast and aid our friends." When there was no reply, the Ranger whirled around to find that Gimli was not there and the hobbits where none the wiser.

*******

Gimli, who was regretting the delay, had decided to go on his own in order to aid his new friend. Something hung heavily on his heart and foretold of something more sinister then just Orcs.  As these thoughts came to him faster and faster he ran on, pushing himself almost to his limit. 

The sounds of the battle were getting closer with each step and he could hear the whoosh of arrows cutting through the air, their deadly heads biting into trees. His heart pounded as his steps rang out through the forest. Faster and faster he ran, till he could just see movement through the thick trunks and colours that were alien to the greens of the forest. The sounds of the fight called to him and echoed in his ears, making his blood pump and his hands almost twitch with the anticipation of battle. 

It was then that he saw the fight in its full and terrifying glory. Boromir stood in the middle of the clearing, sword in hand and covered in blood with the bodies of countless Orcs littering the ground at his feet. More came at him and he fought them off with both shield and blade showing the skill of the men of Gondor. All around the clearing lay the bodies of Orcs that had been picked off on by one, showing the signs of being killed by a long knife. 'Legolas!' 

As Gimli approached the clearing, he realized two things, one there were still many Orcs coming from all directions, and two, was the fact that even though the fight showed signs of Legolas, the Elf was no where to be seen. As he pondered these thoughts he sent his axe blade into the chest of one Orc, and turned to face Boromir.

"What happened here?" the dwarf demanded, "and where is Legolas?"

"They caught us by surprise, Gimli, there was nothing we could do. Legolas has gone to slay the archers." Even as the man spoke, arrows flew around them, bouncing off the ground and chipping at the bark of the nearby trees.  

Gimli started to think of the reasons Legolas was after the archers; sure it would make the fight easer, but why leave the battle, why not just shoot them? Then it hit him and in his minds eye he saw Legolas waking him up and walking into the forest. 'He does not have his bow!'Dark thoughts started to cloud his mind yet again, this means that the Elf had gone off on his own, armed only with his Elven blades to try and stop a hoard of Orcs! 

While cutting another attacker almost in two, he started to move in the direction of the archers to help his friend.

*******

Legolas darted between the trees showing the skill and swiftness of his people. His blades sang as he moved them through air and flesh with deadly accuracy. All the while he was slowly making his way to the archers, but he was aware that it was taking him far to long to get there.

The prince had decided that, without the archers, their chance of survival was much greater, and he had taken it upon himself to eliminate them. But without his bow, this proved to be more difficult than he had originally thought.

In order to avoid attention and the hatred of the arrows, he had circled behind the oncoming Orcs in order to attack the archers from there back flank. This strategy had worked well enough, but it seemed that his foes were expecting that, or at least some form of resistance from behind, and he found the path he had chosen heavily guarded. 

Another Orc came at him head on, and, twisting his body in full rotation, he sliced across the midriff of the fell creature, only to spin again and send both his knives back into the wound and slice up with perfect union, cutting through flesh and bone. Blood splashed onto Legolas' tunic, but he ignored it and continued on, only to be met by another opponent. Using an overhand stroke, he sliced the throat of the Orc, but not before the beast's sword bit into the flesh of his left shoulder. Crying out in pain, he felt a strange numbing sensation fly through his arm, making him almost drop his second knife. 

Holding his head up and tightening his grip on both daggers, he went, forever on, fighting and slashing his way through the foul beasts, his sliver knives gleaming black in the moonlight.

*******

Aragorn quickly picked up his sword, Andúril and as he belted the strap around his waist something caught his eye. Lying to the left of the camp was something that should not have been there. Legolas' bow! Aragorn looked around quickly to see that his quiver was also sitting there, next to the disregarded bow. 

Aragorn quickly walked over, and slinging the bow over his shoulder and strapping on Legolas' quiver he called back to the hobbits. "Hurry, we have no time to waste. Not while three of us are in grave danger!" with that said the three set off to aid their friends.

*******

Boromir stood alone, fighting alone in a clearing full of Orcs. His shirt stained with blood and his sword sticky with gore. His face was splattered with blood and his hair mattered with sweat. More and more Orcs came at him, never stopping. No matter how many he fought, no matter how many he killed, there was no rest in the oncoming attack. 

Arrows still flew past his head, and he was constantly having to hid behind his shield or seek shelter from trees. Dark thoughts clattered his mind, many of Legolas, the one he had so recently attacked, the one he hated so much. But what if he was dead? This thought pulled at Boromirs' mind more than anything. 

The last time he had seen the Elf was as he bravely went off to face the archers on his own, armed not with his weapon of choice, only with his long knives. Even though Boromir knew Legolas to be greatly skilled in most forms of fighting, what kind of chance does a lone Elf stand against a band of Orcs? Orcs hated the Elves more than any species in Middle-earth, and here was Legolas, off by himself and greatly disadvantaged. 

_'I must remember that now Gimli is in his wake, he will aid the Elf.'_ He told himself sternly as his sword lunged and pierced an Orc heart.

He looked up and surveyed the situation. '_Far to many Orcs for me alone. Aragorn? Where is Aragorn?'_ He once again drew his horn to his lips and blew. Out came a sound that reflected his horror and dismay, but one that triumphed over his weakness.

*******

Aragorn lead the hobbits towards the battle although he feared for their safety. They were no fighters and he knew it, but what else could he do? '_Frodo had not wanted to endanger their lives so he bid them stay, so I take them to battle.'_ He sighed and turned to the hobbits. They were trailing behind his quick pace and he did not wish to leave them, even if the battle called to him.

"Hurry!" was all he said, as he turned to run on. Within a few minutes the three came across the battle and the sound of the Horn of Boromir filled their ears.

Pushing the hobbits in front of him, he drove them towards the sound and found their comrade behind a tree.

"You have come!" Boromir exclaimed while slicing his sword across the body of another Orc.

"Yes, we are here, and we bring news." The Ranger replied while swinging into action. "The Ring bearer and Sam have set out to Mordor, leaving us at my command. But I fear that Master Gimli has disappeared." He looked around and noticed something, "Where is Legolas?" he demanded of the man, suspicion and fear in his voice.

"He is well, at least he was last I saw. The Elven prince has set off to slay the archers though I fear that he has only his knives, not his bow. And fear not for Gimli, as he has gone to aid Legolas!" 

Through all this Merry and Pippin kept quiet, knives drawn yet hiding behind the men as much as possible. Whenever the chance arose they both charged an Orc, stabbing and beating it till it fell as they could do little else. 

Aragorn, finding it restricting his movements, had laid Legolas' bow against a tree along with the quiver. Boromir had been carried off to the left in the flood of the fight, bodies swarming around him.  Seeing this, Aragorn went to aid his friend, calling to the hobbits to follow him. As the Ranger chopped and slashed his way through he heard a sickening thud. One made by an arrow. An arrow biting into flesh.

He looked around wildly. Seeing that the hobbits were ok, it left only one that this misfortune could have fallen upon. 

Boromir stood there, a look of horror on his face, an arrow penetrating from him right shoulder. Slowly, ever so slowly he raised his sword and brought it down on the head of the closest Orc while a scream of rage escaped his lips.

Aragorn, seeing this, fought harder to get to his friends side, the hobbits close behind him. 

The fight was fierce, and as Orc after Orc fell at he hands of the men and hobbits, arrows still flew.

*******

Gimli ran on, trying to pinpoint the exact location of the archers by the whispers of the arrows as they left their strings. All he wanted was to find his friend alive and well, and aid him in his battle. To his surprise and had found a defined trail of slain Orcs to follow and was grateful that Legolas still fought on.

No Orcs had come to block his way and he was not sure what to make of that. Either Legolas had taken them all out, or they held no interest in the dwarf and focused all their attention on the lone Elf. This he could not tell, but he hopped that it was in fact the first of the two, as he knew all to well the hate the Orcs had for Elves. It was one that surpassed even the hate of the dwarves, one so old that all knew of the aversion. The Elves were all that the Orcs despised in the world; good, noble, true and beautiful. One with nature, and the fell beasts would stop at nothing to destroy that connection, that beauty, and worst of all, they took pleasure in it.

With this firmly in his mind he hurried on, his hopes high, but a shadow loomed in the back of his mind.

*******

An Orc ran by, looking for a worthy opponent. But none were to be found. The men only delayed the future, their downfall. And the halfling's were indeed no fight, they merely stood in his way.

But somewhere, somewhere in the mist of the fight there was an Elf. A being that, while not being able to match his strength, could at least put up a fight for a moment. The Orc searched for this member of the group, one that he would enjoy tormenting. One that he was ordered to find and bring back to his dark master.

It was then that his eyes befell an object. One that he hated so much, one that, given any different circumstance he would destroy on the spot. But this would aid him in the capture of the Elf.

With a weary glance at the two fighting men he reached down and picked up the object, and slinging it over his shoulder he ran off in search of the being of light.

*******

His shoulder pained making his left arm slower then he thought possible. But Legolas kept pressing on, he could not fail them, he could not let the fellowship fall apart cause was not capable. 

He was aware that he was leaving a trail of dead Orcs behind him, which led him to wonder just how many there were in the first place. '_Too many!'_ As he ran on, unhindered for the time being, he could hear the soft whistles of arrows being released from their notches. '_Almost there, just a bit further,'_ he told himself.

His eyes picked up on the form of an Orc through the trees and he saw it release an arrow in his direction. Legolas had only a moment to devise a way to dodge it, and he was fully aware of another Orc coming close up on his right. 

The arrow flew at him, guided by its black feathers, its metal head gleaming in the moonlight, aimed at the left side of his chest.

In a movement quick and swift, Legolas threw the blade held in his right hand to his left, catching it with ease. Holding both Elven blades in one hand, he quickly turned to the left with his right hand outstretched and caught the shaft of the arrow. Using the momentum of the once flying object, he continued to spin to his left, turning a full 360 degrees. His rotation ended with him sinking the arrow deep into the throat of the oncoming Orc. Legolas then kicked the gurgling Orc out of his path and ran directly towards the archer, his feet light over the rough ground.

*******

Boromir fought on. He was noticeably weaker, but he would not submit to the pain. He surveyed the situation, hope leaving him. '_All is lost! Alas, it is my fault, I should have not come on this quest. I knew it would take me, but yet I came'._ His attention was brought to an archer. One who had left the safety of the deep forest. 

It notched an arrow, pulling the string back, and aimed. 

Boromir felt another shaft sink into his flesh and he wavered slightly. The hobbits cried out and tried to run to the man's side, but they were grabbed by two Orcs. Already the loss of blood from his first wound had affected him, but this, this was almost too much to bear. 

Aragorn saw his friend get hit once again, and he made his way to the brave man. Seeing him almost collapse, he reached out to him, supporting him from behind. He heard the hobbits cry out, and when he looked up despair filled his eyes. For there they were, in the hold of the Orcs and there was nothing he could do. Boromir quickly regained his composure before the Orcs had the time to close them in more than they already were.

The Orcs were running out in numbers, but there were still more then the broken fellowship could easily win against. The hobbits cried out and protested as they were carried away, kicking and withering like fish out of water.

Boromir once again stood straight and resumed fighting, trying vainly to make his way to the hobbits. Aragorn stood in front of Boromir clearing the path as best as he could for his wounded companion. 

The archer, unhindered, took aim yet again, and this time Boromir was not the target. 

What befell next was a moment that, if swayed another way, could have changed the very course of the future, the war would have been lost, the people forsaken and the darkness the triumphant. But it was not, what happened needed to happen, for the sake of Middle-earth.

Boromir saw the archer take aim at Aragorn, the man he rivaled, the man he believed should not be king. But he could not let this come to pass. Summoning the last of his strength, he knocked the Ranger to the ground, taking the arrow in the throat.

He fell. Sinking into darkness, shadows clouded his eyes. He was aware that a yell of pain and hatred escaped his lips as he fell backwards, life fleeting from his body. The screams of the hobbits filled his ears for but a moment, then they seemed clocked, as if he was underwater, hearing the noise from the surface, but it was distraught. The stars faded out of his vision, the last thing he saw before his soul left his body, seeking the world of the dead.

*******

'Finally!' Gimli sighed to himself. He had just caught sight of Legolas fighting up ahead. The nimble elf had dodged an arrow, catching it in mid-flight and had sent it into the throat of another fell creature. 'I wonder why I thought I had cause to worry?' He questioned himself. But before he had even finished his line of thought he saw another Orc coming out of the woods, from the direction of the clearing that Boromir fought in.

Gimli ran towards it, wanting to stop it before it had time to attack Legolas from behind but to his surprise the Orc stopped and reached behind its back, pulling out a bow and an arrow.

And Elven arrow. An Elven bow.

The ones that belonged to Legolas. 

The Orc quickly fitted the arrow, resting his middle finger against his fang like teeth for support and to steady his hand. He pulled the sting tight, tighter, tighter until he could pull it back no more, and then he released it and with deadly accuracy it hit its target, causing Gimli to cry out.

*******

Legolas engaged head on with the archer Orc. The Elf had run so swiftly that the foul beast had no time to fit another arrow to his string, let alone draw a different weapon. The Orc simply lashed out at the prince with the end of his bow, striking Legolas across his face. 

The force of the impact caused the Elf to turn away, so he continued the spin, coming back around to face the Orc he used his blades across its upper body. His aim was off due to his surprise hit, and, while the right blade bite in the flesh of the Orc's face the left was lower and hit the steel of its shoulder guard. Legolas gasped in pain as his arm jarred under the force, sending a throbbing sensation up to his already wounded shoulder. The blade fell from his left hand, and made a soft thud as it hit forest floor, its hilt shimmering under the dull light of the moon. With a quick swipe Legolas slit the throat of the Orc with his right blade and it fell to the ground, utterly lifeless.

The prince then scanned the forest for the signs of the other archers, but they had disappeared. He bent to pick up his discarded knife, and returned it to its sheath as he was unable to hold it due to his wound. Seeing his job as being done, Legolas took a step forward but halted when his ears picked up on a sound behind him. 

Before he had time to turn two things happened. One was he heard Gimli cry out in terror and the other was he became aware of a new and sharp feeling in his back.

Legolas felt himself swoon before he was able to put two and two together. Gimli must have followed him in order to help, but the sound that he had heard was not caused by the dwarf. It was the sound of an arrow being fired. An arrow that the Elf was now aware of, penetrating from his back just to the right side of his spine, near his shoulder blade.

Legolas looked down to see that the arrow had in fact gone all the way through his body. Blood flowed quickly down his tunic, staining it in a rusty red colour, coming from where the shaft had hit him, just under his collarbone. Legolas then noticed that he had sunk to his knees, his head and vision spinning around him, and, as he looked down on the arrowhead he recognized it all too well. It was one of his own arrows, one made from wood that he had searched for, wood that he had whittled down and fitted with feathers of beauty. A tip forged in metal, which he had fitted to the shaft, designed to pierce flesh and bone alike. '_My own arrow! Fallen by my own arrow!' _Thoughts ran through his mind followed by a darkness that could have taken his immortal soul right there and then if he had not fought it so hard. 

_'The fellowship has failed thanks to me.'_

The prince fell to the ground, gasping for air and as a footstep crunched leaves near his head he turned eyes that reflected his pain and looked into a face. . .

*******

Tbc. . . 

**I NEED YOUR HELP!!!!!!**

Well, that was it and I hoped you all liked it! 

While writing this I had a thought: (yes, I know that that is a scary concept) what if I was to do an AU of this AU…ok, I'm not as crazy as I sound so hear me out please. With the whole Boromir knocking Aragorn out of the way (believe it or not, it took me about 45 minutes to write the next couple of sentences after that, as I didn't know what to do,) I could do a 'spin off/AU' kinda thing when Boromir didn't do that and Aragorn died. If that did happen it would affect the entire story, even Legolas' upcoming bits *evil grin.* but, I'm not going to do it unless you all say it would be a good idea, and more importantly if you think I would be capable of writing it (I do not claim to be good at writing, I just like to 'play'. I personally think my writings kinda lame.) So, if you think I can do it and it would be a good idea, tell me in a review or e-mail me. All thoughts and opinions are very welcome. *Hides in fear of what you will all say*

Minka 


	4. Death is only the Beginning

People all drop dead of heart attacks.

"She updated!" they all whisper in horror.

Yes, yes, yes, I know it has been ages!! And I truly am sorry for that. Its not like I am going to make excuses or anything…but I was very busy with *thinks* school work and, umm – ok, other stories. There, I admitted it. I got carried away with other stories and total forgot about this one, and when I did remember, it was too hard to write it as I had no real plan or plot. (Which, when you think about it, is not something uncommon for me, look at The Blood of the Innocent, 6 chapters before I even started to think of a plot. Lol.) But, I promise I will try to update this more frequently, it is just that, with my busy life, I can only really do one chapter per week, so by the time I do the ones that haunt me all the time, others get left out. But I shall try harder from now on!

LOL. Ok, I have a secret to tell. This is to all the people who said, "you write battle scenes very well" and that I "Write battle scenes with an ease" and the like. I thankyou so much for your wonderful complements yet I must tell you that it is not with such ease that I come up with this stuff. For instance, the bit where Legolas caught the arrow and spun, sending it into the Orcs throat, I had the aid of two yellow connector pens and a brown one. The yellow I used as his blades and the brown as the arrow, and I acted the whole thing out, to make sure I got it right. The bit when he spun and sliced at the Orc and his wounded arm fell short, I did that too, making sure to keep my arm stiff and slower then the other one. I must admit to have doing this to most of my fight scenes (even the staff scene in The Blood of the Innocent, which, in one try, the bloody broom hit me in the head! Lol) but hey, it works, and it works well and does seem to create a very visual/real affect, so I am glad that you all like it and hopefully appreciate the lengths I go through to get these as visual and real as possible! Lol.

Oh, and the bit in here that sees Aragorn trying to work out what happened is kinda weird. I wanted to get inside his mind and see how he, being a ranger, would see the cluse that were left. Obviously, not everything that he 'sees' (that bit is in italics) is right, so please don't say, "you made a mistake cause that's not what happened" because I know that and have done that deliberately. I found that bit fun to write, as I have long wanted to be a forensic scientists and it was just like that. I got to look at what would have been left after such a fight, and then try to piece it together from an outsiders perspective, so it was a lot of fun! Lol

Anyway, thanks to all those who reviewed with your words of encouragement and praise *feels loved.* normally, it would make me write faster, but in this case it didn't, BUT, I am up to the Elf torture now so it will come quicker and easier. 

Legolas: why do you like to hurt me so much?

Minka: because it is fun!

Legolas: *little pouty face* but I thought you loved me.

Minka: *all sweet* I do, my love, but *changes mood* love hurts so you better just start to deal with it! Now, sit there and be a good muse!

Legolas: *pouts* 

Minka: Good Elf boy!

Legolas: Don't call me Elf!!!!!

Minka: Ok, Elf boy! *gets knocked off her chair by a pissed off Legolas*

On with the story.

Shadows Within; Darkness Without.

Part Four

Death is only the Beginning.

…A face he knew almost as well as his own.  
  
"Gimli?" Legolas gasped, struggling for the air that did not seem to come to his lungs. The look on Gimli's face horrified the Elf, it was one of terror and fear, but above all it was one that showed no hope.  
  
Gimli had wasted no time in rushing to his friend's aid and he had quickly forgotten the threat of the armed Orc. When he had reached the Elf's side, he had subconsciously thrown his axe away so to lift the Elf's head into his hands.  
  
But as he held the shaking Elf, he saw the Orc approach from behind Legolas's back. With a movement that was considered quick for his race, he reached down and grabbed one of Legolas' disregarded blades and threw it up at the large Orc. The blade held true to his aim and it would have struck it in the heart if the fell beast had not dodged it. Instead, the knife found its way into the shoulder of the Orc.  
  
The Orc still advanced and Gimli noted that it had its heart set on killing his Elven friend. The beast approached and lifted its sword up above its head, in a position that, after taking another three steps, would cleave the wounded Elf in half.  
  
Legolas watched this scene unfold before his eyes, utterly unable to do anything about it. The pain in his back and chest was like nothing he had ever felt before and he found that his entire right side was slowly going numb. Poison! His mind screamed at him, desperately trying to banish the affect it had on his body and the panicking emotions within his head. My own arrows coated in poison. He turned horrified eyes up to Gimli, trying to tell him what was wrong.  
  
The dwarf felt as if the Elf had actually spoken and soon realized Legolas' plight.  
  
Yet the Orc still advanced, quickly closing the three steps needed to kill the Elf, and Gimli had only one idea. As the Orc pulled its blade further past its head, its eyes enlarged at the anticipation it was feeling for this kill. The blade embedded in its shoulder slowed down its actions ever so slightly, but that was all Gimli needed to grab hold of Legolas' waist and haul him off the ground, as the Orc blade came crashing down.  
  
The sharp steel bit into the ground at the exact spot that Legolas' chest had been only moments before and the Orc growled at the Elf's escape. Suddenly, the loss of blood got to the to the Orc and it hesitated, swaying slightly while it tried to get its senses back.  
  
Gimli pulled Legolas to his feet, and as the Elf swayed in his arms, he vainly tried to pull him along. The fact that Gimli was about half the height of the tall Elf made this maneuver even harder, but Gimli was not going to give up. He placed the Elf's limp right arm around his neck, causing the Elf to double over, while he wrapped his arms around his waist and led him on.  
  
Legolas' eyes were slightly glazed over, not really seeing anything, and his steps were heavy and clumsy, almost to the point of making Gimli look graceful. His blond hair hung over his shoulders, cloaking his face and its pain from any that could see.  
  
Gimli dragged Legolas on, forcing the Elf to place one foot in front of the other. The Dwarf could hear the Orc's heavy footsteps falling on the soft dirt behind him, and he soon realized that there was no hope of outrunning the evil beast.  
  
"Ok, crazy Elf, I need some help here." He muttered using the nickname he had long given Legolas. The statement was more to himself than it was to the limp body of his friend and he was completely shocked to hear a rasping voice come in reply.  
  
"How, stupid dwarf?" Legolas choked out through gasps of pain. He moved his head slightly so he could see Gimli's face, and in his eyes, he saw a glimmer of hope.  
  
  
*******  
  
  
Merry and Pippin's cries echoed throughout the dark forest, mingling in with the stomping of Orc feet. The two hobbits were each slung over the shoulder of an Orc, their hands and feet bound tightly.  
  
Merry had a nasty looking gash along his head from where he had struggled with the Orc that held him, and the blood seeped down his face, clouding his vision. He could hear Pippin calling to him, trying to get a better response than the screams for Aragorn, but he could not bring himself to speak. His head hurt him beyond anything he had ever felt before and that, mixed with the loss of blood, caused him to feel lightheaded.  
  
The Orc that carried him suddenly lost its footing and stumbled slightly. Thankfully, it did not fall, but the jerk caused the metal plate that it wore on its shoulder to dig into Merry's stomach painfully. The sudden impact on his body felt like a kick to the stomach and Merry found himself dry retching. His stomach held nothing to let pass, but the feeling of a stomach churning was enough to aggravate his captor more, and he felt a harsh tug on his feet.  
  
Merry's head sunk low, down to resting on the Orcs back, the coarse cloth of its clothing rubbing painfully on his head wound until a blissful blackness crept over him.  
  
  
*******  
  
  
Legolas lay on the ground in an open clearing, utterly exposed to any that came by. His right side was completely numb, yet occasionally it went into spasms that he could not control. A cold sweat had broken out on his face and the salty substance dripped down into his eyes, causing him to constantly blink.  
  
Legolas turned his head to the left slightly, searching for any sign of help, but none was to be found. He then redirected his gaze to the right, and thus back the way he had stumbled with Gimli. He waited for the approaching hunter.  
  
Terror was in his heart, but he knew that he had to keep his head clear and concentrate on what he had to do. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and tried to keep his breathing shallow and unnoticeable. He let his mind wander just at the borders of the dream world of his people, granting him a deathly stillness. His face was pale and still, no signs of the drawing in or exhaling of breath could now be seen. He knew that the wind was blowing his hair around his face and it took all his will power to stop himself from twitching at its light and teasing touch.  
  
Legolas prayed that this would work _"Elbereth, lothron im gar i bellas eitæ!" [Varda, may I have the strength to do this!]_ he pleaded. This had to work, too many lives rested on this one moment. If by some twist of fate he failed, than all hope would be lost.  
  
As he heard a footstep fall to his right, he tensed inside, being careful not to show any signs of movement. A snarl traveled through the air to come to his ears, and the only movement he would allow himself was to tighten his left hand over an object that was carefully concealed by his side.  
  
The footsteps came closer and closer and Legolas found his heart beating faster. He desperately longed to draw in a long and fulfilling breath but he knew better than to let his fears get the better of him.  
  
So he waited.  
  
Leaves and twigs crunched under the feet of the Orc that he knew was approaching him. The same one that had stolen his bow and arrows. The same one that had shot him with one of his own arrows. The one that had coated the arrow in poison. His mind was pulled forcefully back from the pleasant dreams that had diminished his fears, and he dug his nails into his clenched left hand in order to keep still.  
  
Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, the heavy steps stopped near the right of his head. He could feel the Orc watching him, waiting for him to move, to see if the Elf was really dead.  
  
Legolas was holding his breath, not risking even a shallow breath. He felt the air move around him as he realized that the Orc was kneeling down, and his hand tightened on the object in his left hand.  
  
In Legolas' mind, he was replaying the scene that was to hopefully happen. He saw the Orc lean down, coming to check on the Elf's vitals, to see if it was worth taking him for whatever sick reason it would have. And that's when he would strike. He only waited to feel the Orcs breath on his skin, waited for precisely the right moment.  
  
And when that moment came, he was ready.  
  
  
*******  
  
  
A figure stood shadowed within the concealment of the trees, watching with interest. An Elf lay on the ground in the middle of the clearing, not breathing. The Elf's face, while being fair and delicately accented by the moon, was deathly pale and still, as was his entire body. Blood seeped from a wound in his upper chest that still showed the gleam of an arrowhead poking out.  
  
The figure gripped a large tree branch in one hand and a rock in the other, ready for anything that would come at it. It kept watching as an Orc melted out of the woods and headed straight towards the wounded Elf. The fell creature looked on the pale being with disgust, yet a slight, twisted smile crossed his face. It knelt down and placed its large hand over the Elf's still lips. As the figure watched this, it could hold back no more and it came crashing out of the woods with a loud yell.  
  
  
*******  
  
  
The Orc leaned down to cover the Elf's mouth with his hand, to feel if any air was escaping it, and when it felt none, it was utterly disappointed.  
  
Legolas kept totally still and bit back the urge to retch when the Orc's hand covered his mouth. His heart raced and he only hoped the fell beast would not think to feel for a pulse, for if he did, the game would be lost for good.  
  
Suddenly, a loud and deep yell filled the clearing, and Legolas felt the Orc turn, while still remaining on its haunches. As the Orc turned, the last thing it saw was the Elven prince's eyes snap open.  
  
The Orc, caught between facing a new charging foe and the now alive Elf just behind him, panicked, not knowing what to do. In doing so it stopped it from carrying out anything in the way of an attack as a sudden pain hit him.  
  
Legolas heard Gimli's cry and his eyes flew open in an instant. His left hand gripped its object harder and, with one swift movement, he forced himself to roll slightly onto his right side while pulling out the Elven blade he had concealed under his upper left leg. With a shout of his own, he sent the silver blade singing through the air to come in contact with the Orc's neck. Thick black blood spurted out of the fresh wound and fell heavily onto Legolas' face but the Elf ignored it as the Orc tuned back on him.  
  
The Orc reared up and let out an anguished cry and began to spin back to the Elf. With a strong arm, it knocked against Legolas' inside left elbow and the Elf's arm painfully hit the ground. The Orc pulled the blade from its neck and threw it aside, while forcing Legolas' hand to stay crushed on the ground. With its other hand it reached forward and clenched the small visible shaft of the arrow and pushed down on it ruthlessly.  
  
Legolas cried out in pain as the wooden arrow was sent through him, forcing a slightly different hole, due to his angle. He fought as much as he could, but the Orc was far too strong for him. His entire right side was numb and out of his control, and his left hand felt as if it were crushed within the Orc's grasp. In one final try, using his Elven flexibility, he sent his left leg up and came in contact with the Orc's head, forcing it to let go of the painful grasp it had on the Elf.  
  
Gimli saw his Elven friend whirl into action and he quickened his steps. But hope soon fled his heart as he saw the Orc turn on Legolas, and, while he was not sure what it did, for its bulky body blocked his vision, the cry of agony that escaped Legolas' lips was enough to send him mad with hatred. He then witnessed Legolas kick the beast in the head as he continued his quick run. Gimli dropped the rock he was clenching and gripped the branch with both hands as he neared his opponent.  
  
The Orc's head was sent back due to the powerful kick that Legolas had sent into its face, and, as it pulled back, it was hit fiercely from behind. Gimli pulled the branch back and aimed yet another powerful swing at its head, and as it struck again, its head snapped forward with a sickening snap, and its lifeless body slumped on top of a gasping Legolas.  
  
Legolas let out a moan, half out of pain as the heavy body fell on him, crushing his wound more and half out of relief. Gimli wasted no time in quickly bending down and pulling the bleeding creature off his Elven friend, and after doing so, he went about checking Legolas' wounds.  
  
"How are you faring, crazy Elf?" he asked, the concern obvious in his husky voice.  
  
"I will admit to having been better," Legolas hissed through clenched teeth. "You stupid dwarf, that's the last time I ever listen to you. You and your bright ideas." Gimli let out a slight laugh despite the worry he had for Legolas. His wound was bleeding a great deal and the head of the arrow could no longer be seen.  
  
Before Gimli had helped Legolas to the ground to carry out their plan, he had broken the end off the arrow so not to hurt the Elf any more than could be helped. But now it was red and inflamed, showing the tell tale signs of poisoning.  
  
"Ok, Legolas," Gimli said while slipping a hand under his friends form and raising his to a sitting position, "let's get you out of here and to Aragorn." Legolas simply nodded in reply, in too much pain to form a rational sentence.  
  
With the aid of Gimli, Legolas soon found himself hobbling on his left foot and leaning heavily against his shorter friend. When Gimli was sure he had a good grasp on Legolas' waist, he started off, helping the Elf as best he could.  
  
  
*******  
  
  
Aragorn felt his face hit the dirt as Boromir knocked him down. At first he was slightly confused as to what had just happened, but soon Boromir's pain-filled scream filled the night with a new terror.  
  
Showing his agility, Aragorn used his hands to spring himself up to his feet and grabbed the sword that he been knocked out of his hand in his fall. Boromir lay on the ground, an arrow penetrating from his throat, and with that one glance, Aragorn could tell that the man was already dead. As he continued to survey the situation, he saw that marry and Pippin's captors were already disappearing over the hill and blending into the trees. There was nothing he could do for them yet. Luckily, with them went most of the Orcs, leaving him only three to fight, the archer not one of them.  
  
One of the Orcs came at him from the right and he twisted his body in a full rotation and swung his sword. The blade came at the Orc from behind and as Aragorn let it fly, it took off the Orc's head.  
  
The two others wasted no time in both coming at the man with surprising speed. The one on the right raised its blade up and brought it down to be blocked by Aragorn's. With his left foot, the ranger kicked out and caught the other one in the stomach, causing it to stumble backwards. He parried off the other blade and turned to the Orc on the left and ran Andúril through its middle.  
  
He pulled the blood stained blade free and turned again to face his last opponent.  
  
Aragorn stood with his feet apart and his sword held high. Without warning, his foe charged at him and delivered blow after blow, which Aragorn skillfully deflected. The Orc's attack took the man slightly by surprise and he found himself being driven backwards. The Orc seized the opportunity and lashed out with his leg, catching Aragorn in the stomach.  
  
The man gasped, letting his guard down only to have his feet swept out from under him by a skillful leg. He fell to the ground, pain jarring up his body and looked up in time to see the Orc raise his sword above his head, readying itself for the strike. Aragorn wasted no time in thrusting Andúril upwards, sending the blade right through the Orc. The man reluctantly let go of his sword in order to roll out of the way of the falling body and the sharp sword it still held.  
  
And there he lay for a moment, trying to catch his breath and calm his nerves. With a great sigh, he pushed himself to his feet and rolled the Orc body over to retrieve his sword and it was then that he realized that he was utterly alone. No living thing was in the clearing, good or evil, and with sickening realization, he knew that that could be the way it really was - Merry and Pippin in the hands of the Orcs, Boromir dead to save him, Gimli in search of Legolas. And Legolas, what of his dear friend? Aragorn had not seen him since much earlier that evening, and the last he had heard was his startled cry at Boromir's hands. His heart was most troubled over this friend, and while he did not doubt the Elf's strength or abilities, he knew how Orcs hated elves. They would swarm Legolas by paying much more attention to him that any other of the fellowship.  
  
It was then that Aragorn remembered that he had Legolas' bow and quiver, and he quickly set off to find it. But when he got to the tree where he had left them, they were nowhere to be seen. He cast his eyes to the ground and soon picked up on a set of Orc footprints leading straight to them. Aragorn swallowed hard, knowing what might have happened, and with one quick look around the clearing and a lingering look at Boromir, he set out, tracking the Orc that he was sure had taken Legolas' weapons.  
  
  
*******  
  
  
Aragorn had been running for close to half an hour when he came across a dead Orc. From the bow that lay still in its hand he could tell it was an archer, and when he turned it over he saw the signs of two small blades, one across its face, the other slightly lower on the shoulder. Legolas. Relief ran through him, but he continued to scour the clearing. After but a moment of looking, something shiny caught his attention and as he stooped to pick it up, Aragorn knew it was one of Legolas' blades.  
  
The man's heart fell as he knew that his friend would go nowhere without his knives unless it was absolutely necessary. As he continued around the small clearing he saw two other things that sent shivers up his spin.  
  
One was Gimli's axe, thrown into the bush and obviously forgotten. And the other was the worst. In the center of the clearing was something, that if Aragorn was not as good a ranger as he was, he would have missed. There was something slightly wrong with the way the grass was standing.  
  
He slowly made his way over to the area, careful not to disturb any of the other evidence that he may not have seen yet. The grass was slightly flattened by something that was light, but that had fallen. In the middle of the patch, there was a glistening substance, and when Aragorn placed his forefinger in it, he soon realized that it was blood. Red blood. Blood that was not from an Orc. His heart skipped a beat at the realization of the only person it could have been - Legolas. He also saw the way that the Elf was pulled back by someone, and the deep slice made in the ground where the Elf had lain, and the scene was suddenly recreated in his head.  
  
_Legolas killed the archer and had not seen a second archer behind him. The Elf was then shot, and fell to the ground where he squashed the grass slightly and his wound bleed upon the green blades._  
  
Aragorn stood and walked around until he saw a set of heavy yet small tracks that led from the bush to the place were Legolas lay.  
  
_He could see Gimli coming out from the trees, running to aid his friend, throwing his axe carelessly to the side in order to help Legolas._  
  
Aragorn then saw the footprints of the Orc, and the cut in the grass under the Elven prince's body.  
  
_The Orc stepped up to the helpless duo and then -_  
  
Then the blade, it was not near the body and cover thickly with Orc blood. Aragorn closed his eyes and let his instincts take over.  
  
_Legolas threw the blade at the Orc and it connected with some part of the Orc's body, somewhere that would have slowed it down, but not stopped it. But it kept coming, and as it lifted its blade above its head -_  
  
Aragorn bent down and inspected the flattened grass again. There was a defined shape where Legolas had fallen, but as the body was pulled along, it formed a slight arch.  
  
_Gimli was nursing Legolas' head as the blade swung towards the Elven prince. The dwarf quickly pulled Legolas back and away from the blade. Legolas' position changed as he was pulled, and the Elf was more on his side, thus creating a flattened arch with his upper body. The blade bit into the ground right where Legolas had been._  
  
Aragorn could see where Gimli had pulled Legolas to his feet and half dragged the Elf out of the clearing. This meant that something happened to the Orc, otherwise they would not have had the time to escape. But the Orc did not fall, or did not leave, for its footprints followed that of Legolas and Gimli.  
  
Happy with his deduction for the moment, Aragorn set off at a run, following the three sets of footprints from the clearing.  
  
  
*******  
  
  
Legolas and Gimli struggled on. It was getting harder and harder for Legolas to even drag his right side along and Gimli knew that they could not go much further.  
  
Suddenly Legolas stopped, causing Gimli to curse under his breath and come to a jerking halt as well. Legolas quickly hushed the dwarf, and mouthed one simple word. "Orcs."  
  
Gimli froze and listened as well. Sure enough, the unmistakable sound of Orcs could be heard to the right, and as he looked into the woods, he could make out their shapes, proving just how much danger they were really in.  
  
The Orcs were heading right at them, and any hope the two held of not being seen was crushed when the lead Orc called out and pointed right at the two friends.  
  
Gimli tightened his grip on Legolas and pulled him around, half dragging the tired Elf through the woods. But they were soon overtaken and the Orcs surrounded them. Each of the Orcs wore a grin of pleasure at the sight of the weakened Elf that stood before them. There were far too many to even think of fighting and both knew that this was the end in one way or another.  
  
Legolas' eyes darted around the group, wishing that he had his bow and a full quiver, or at least some control of his right side. But he was not that fortunate.  
  
Gimli looked on in terror. Not only was he in danger, but his best friend was as well, and probably more then he. He knew that they would just kill him, but Legolas…Legolas they would take and make sport with until the Elf broke. He pushed the frail Elf behind him as best as he could, wishing he had held onto the branch he had used earlier to kill the last Orc.  
  
A shrill cry broke through the eerie silence and Legolas and Gimli looked to see Merry and Pippin in the grasps of the Orcs.  
  
Pippin had called out to Legolas in fear of the pale Elf that he saw leaning over on Gimli. Sadly, the Orcs used this distraction as an advantage and jumped the two friends.  
  
Gimli punched the one that came at him, and quickly reached down to grab a large rock that was at his feet, but as he did so he was aware that Legolas had been grabbed from behind. And when the dwarf heard the Elf call his name he spun to help, but was too late.  
  
Legolas had seen the Orcs lunge forward and was too preoccupied with the ones that came at him from the front to even pay any attention to those that came from behind. He was about to strike one in the stomach with his left hand when he felt an iron like grip grab both shoulders and pull him backwards. Unintentionally, he called to Gimli as he felt a knife pressed to his throat.  
  
Gimli whirled around to see his close friend in the clutches of the Orcs, a knife pressed dangerously hard at the Elf's throat. As an automatic reaction, he quickly dropped the rock he was holding, a look of terror and dismay across his face.  
  
Legolas winced at the sight of Gimli defenseless, and he desperately willed his body to obey him just this once. But it was not to be and he found that he was slowly sinking within the Orcs grasp, the loss of blood and fatigue finally catching up with him.  
  
The Orc let out a slight laugh, one that hurt Legolas' ears just to hear, and with a movement of its hand, the other Orcs closed in on Gimli. Legolas could see their arms swing back and come into contact with what he knew was Gimli and he struggled weakly.  
  
"Gimli!" he yelled, terror in his voice. "No! leave him be!"  
  
"Silence Elf." The Orc held him yelled as yet another rain of fists descended on Gimli.  
  
Even if Legolas had wanted to stay quiet he could not, and he continued to weakly call out for his friend. "Irlíeg nin min mellon!" [Forgive me my friend.]  
  
Gimli could hear Legolas' desperate yells, and wondered what was happening to his friend, not caring about the fists that fell on him. He knew that what he went through was only small compared to what Legolas would soon suffer. But the pain was so great, and he felt himself grow weaker with each and every hit. He was aware of the fact that he was laying on the ground, and that the fists had been replaced with feet. He could also hear the little ones' cries for both he and Legolas. As he felt darkness creep over him, his last thoughts were on his dear friend, and he vowed he would get him back.  
  
Legolas saw the Orcs cease in their beating of Gimli, but continued to struggle with what little strength and control he had left. As the group parted he caught a glimpse of his friend. Gimli lay on the ground, covered in blood and bruises that were already forming, and from his location, he could not see Gimli breathing. He found himself still calling out, but his yells were cut short when the Orc that held him spun him around.  
  
"You should stop worrying about your little friend and start worrying about yourself, my pretty." He snickered, while lifting his arm to hit Legolas roughly over the head.  
  
Legolas felt his world plunge into darkness as the screams of the hobbits echoed in his ears.  
  
  
*******  
  
  
tbc…  


Minka sits there with an ice pack on her throat and Legolas has one on the back of his head. They take a moment to glare at each other and turn their attention back to the computer. 

Minka: Well I hope you all enjoyed that.

Legolas: I on the other hand, did not. *points his finger at Minka accusingly* she made me play dead on the cold tile floor so you people can have you good little battle scenes!

Minka: Better you then me - and what are you complaining about Elf boy? You are an Elf, you don't feel the cold!!!

Legolas: Damnit!

Minka: Anyway, I will hopefully update this much sooner this time and the Elf torture will begin!!! Bye bye! And REVIEW Damnit!!!!! Please??????


	5. From ash we come, to ash we go

See I told you I wouldn't leave you all hanging for too long. It is here, the long awaited next chapter of Shadows Within; Darkness Without and what's more, the long *long* awaited torture scene is up and done!  
  
I had this really kick ass thing to do to everyone's fave Elf, but it was not the time so it will happen next chapter (even though I know I will be severally reprimanded for it! LOL - seriously, all you people will be after my head!)  
  
Ok, before you read this chapter, please note: I have altered Aragorn's character just a tad. I mean, it is an AU so I can, and really it is not that big a deal, I just gave him some extra insecurities. Ashbukra (my Orc) is mine and his name means "One Claw" (I don't know why I chose that, I mean, he had both hands! Lol) The weird looking stuff that is said by the Orcs is actual Orcish. I decided that I knew enough Sindarin and Quenya and needed to challenge myself a little more. Here is an interesting fact for you all, there is more in the way of compiled lists of Orcish than there is Sindarin! Bet ya all didn't know that and I bet ya all don't care! Lol The vespers said for Boromir are based off one that I read elsewhere (think it may have been in the Silmarillion.) I just thought it was a good concept, especially for what I have planned, and then I rearranged it, added and subtracted words and then wrote it in a different language.  
  
Ok, I think that is about all you need to know, except for the fact that I don't own anything but this incredibly Alternate Universe idea and Ashbukra. (As you can see, I am not in the mood to be funny - normally I would have some funny thing about how I own everything but ah well, seriousness has to be there sometimes!)  
  
By the way, these chapter seem to be getting longer and longer so let me know if I am pushing it too much. I mean, I love to write and get quiet carried away (a chapter for a story that I will be putting up soon is over 15 pages long!) and I like to read, so I more often then not, go for the longer stories and get used to that length. So, yeah, let me know what you all think.  
  
Enjoy.  
  
Oh, and just to do the right thing; WARNING, GRAPHIC VIOLENCE!  
  
*****  
  
Shadows Within; Darkness Without. Part Five From ash we come, to ash we go.  
  
****  
  
Aragorn ran on, not allowing himself the much-needed rest that his body craved for. His legs pounded against the ground just as his heart pounded in his chest as his fear for his two friends increased with each passing step. He had already passed what he believed to be the dead body of the Orc that had chased his friends, and this alone gave him a slight glimmer of hope. But hope was something scarce, especially when he noticed the large pool of Elven blood that soaked the ground and made the grass glimmer in the moonlight. He knew that the morning hours were fast approaching but for some reason that seemed to disturb him even more.  
  
He was fast becoming desperate, allowing panic to engulf him and he was slightly aware that it was hindering his senses. Every time he turned a bend, or scaled a hill all he prayed for was to see them just up ahead, one helping the other while searching for him or even the lost Hobbits.  
  
Merry and Pippin's capture weighted heavily on his heart, as did the death of Boromir. Boromir's act of selflessness surprised the ranger. If was not that he thought him to be selfish, or even uncaring, but there was something about the way he had been acting in the days just passed. Legolas had even picked up on it, and, being an Elf with a great judge of character, Aragorn had believed what he said.  
  
The thing that baffled him the most about the situation was Legolas' startled cry that had awoken him. It had been before the Orcs had come onto the scene and yet it had not occurred for any reason. Something had happened to the Elf that Legolas was not expecting and Aragorn knew that it was not just a matter of something that was said. It was the result of some outrageous action, such as an attack from an unlikely source.  
  
What disturbed Aragorn the most was the fact that Legolas had warned him, and that he had stubbily refused to look into the situation. And by doing this careless act Aragorn may have set off a chain of unstoppable events that could possibly end only with the death of his dear friend as well as the rest of the fellowship.  
  
Deep down inside Aragorn knew that, on some level it was all his fault; the death of Boromir, the capture of the two young hobbits, Legolas' wound and his and Gimli's disappearance. He had faulted long ago, starting with the death of Gandalf the Grey and had only faulted more in the days and weeks that followed. He was not fit to lead and he had known that - he could barely take care of himself let alone several others. At first he wanted Boromir to lead, but then something stopped him from asking the man - something about that way that the steward looked upon the small hobbit and ring-bearer - and he had known that he was not the most worthy of choices.  
  
The next candidate was Legolas. In Aragorn's opinion he could not have asked for a better leader as the prince was born to lead, not just in title but in strength. Aragorn himself would have followed the Elf to the ends of the world if he so bade it. While Legolas had a heart of gold he was strong and composed, never letting his emotions get the better of him, no matter how much he grieved. He had been a pillar of strength in the early days spent in Lothlórien for both the Hobbits and Aragorn. It was clear to all that he missed the old wizard as much as, if not more than the others and yet he was strong, he refused to fall apart, even when he took the others grief upon his own shoulders.  
  
It was there that Aragorn had asked it of Legolas to lead the fellowship. It was a big thing to ask as far as favours went, but Aragorn could see no other choice else he lead the group himself. Now Aragorn thought that he had always known that Legolas would turn him and his request down. While the prince knew all too well that he was beyond capable to do such a task, he had strongly shown his reluctance, claiming that he was not experienced enough. Yet Legolas had always been a terrible liar and Aragorn saw through his bad lie and knew that what the Elf was really trying to say was that Aragorn needed the experience, especially if he was to become the leader of all men. Aragorn's first reaction was to be angry, though he did not express his feelings to the Elf as to not upset him, but soon, Aragorn had come to believe that Legolas was right, that this was something that he had to do whether he liked it or not.  
  
From that day on, he had accepted what was, not questioning it in fear of convincing himself that he was not worthy or capable. But now, now the ring-bearer was on his way to Mordor with only his friend for protection, two hobbits were taken by the Orcs, one dead and the others missing. He was seriously starting to think that he was the only one left and that thought scared him so much more than any other.  
  
He felt a failure as he continued his search. The ranger normally so good at keeping track of the time and the distance in which he had travelled was completely oblivious as to both. All he knew was that he had to find he Elf and Dwarf and that he would keep running until he did.  
  
*****  
  
The green of the trees mingled in with the swirling of the dark night sky as eyes full of pain looked out at them. The beings body hurt and throbbed to the point that even breathing in shallow breaths caused an intense pain to burn within their chest.  
  
Gimli lay there, willing his wreaked body to do as he commanded of it. He had to go after Legolas and the Hobbits, and even though his mind screamed at him to get up and fight the hurt that threatened to drown him into unconsciousness he could not bring himself to move. It was as if he were paralysed - although he knew that he was not due to the fact that he could feel every aching bone in his body.  
  
Luckily for him, his heavy metal breastplate and armour had blocked most of the blows that the Orcs had assailed upon him, though some were hard enough to get through his protective skin. He had never been in so much agony before, had never felt so weak and tired, and all he wished to do was to curl into a tight little ball and make the world disappear. However, he could not, he had to aid his friends that were in the clutches of the Orcs.  
  
He had no idea as to the whereabouts of Aragorn and Boromir, or even if they still lived. All he knew was that at this point in time he was alone and that Legolas' and the Hobbits' life depended on him being about to get up and go after them. 'Twas no good to leave the search up to people that he did not even know still drew breath, especially if one had previously attacked the Elven member of their group.  
  
Reluctantly pulling himself into a crouching position he made ready to rise but stopped in his actions when he heard a footfall off the right. Doing his best to look into the darkness that was surrounding him, he could faintly make out a shape making its way towards him at a run.  
  
*****  
  
"Latvrapog!" [You run!] A bulky Orc screamed into Merry's ear when he slowed to an exhausted walk. The Orc poked him forcefully in the back with the end of a whip as Merry cringed in repulsion of the foul voice and breath of the large being, but picked up his pace again, not wishing to draw any more attention to himself. Though he did not understand the words, he could understand the intrusive jab of the whip clearly enough. The large and still slightly bleeding cut on his head and his stinging back were reminders of what drawing attention to himself would bring, and he had no care to experience such again unnecessary.  
  
It had been hours since travelling with the Orcs. He and Pippin had been both forced to run for the last hour or so, ever since the ors had tired of carrying them. He had thought it bad before, but now, with what had recently happened he knew that what he thought horrible was just the beginning.  
  
When he had first seen Legolas and Gimli through the trees, his heart had picked up at the prospect of being saved. Then he saw something that made him freeze. At the time, he had no real way of telling if his thoughts had been true, but it seemed that Legolas was wounded. It was the way the Elf had leaned heavily on the Dwarf, obviously needing support and aid to stand, the way his head had hung low, even the way he seemed not to glow under the light of the celestial objects as he normally did. It haunted Merry, made him feel as if he and Pippin's position was not of that much importance.  
  
When he witnessed the beating that the Orcs bestowed upon Gimli, his heart ached and his voice cried out, no matter how useless it seemed. He cried for Gimli, he cried for himself, for Merry, for Aragorn and the others he may never see again, and he cried for Legolas. For the pain and terror, that the Elf was sure to feel in the clutches of the Orcs was sure to outdo that that he would feel.  
  
It had seemed slightly surreal, the happenings of the worst of dreams, a nightmare in which he could not escape no matter how hard he tried or how many tears he cried.  
  
Since Gimli's fall and Legolas' capture, things had become more deadly, more evil; it was now more of something right out of the depths of hell. The Orcs were brutal and unforgiving and pushed them hard, forcing them to keep pace with what was much faster and harder then any the little hobbits had experienced.  
  
Legolas, since his capture had remained unconscious which Merry thought was for the best, yet even this had not stopped the Orcs from taking pleasure in hurting the Elf in the few moments that they had stopped.  
  
The one and only time of rest that they had been granted was of no real value to the Elf or Merry. The Orcs, bored with the long and, what they would consider uneventful run, took to trying to awaken the young prince using their whips. At first Legolas had given no reaction, which angered the Orcs even more and when finally, the unconscious Elf had started to moan in pain they seemed to greedily lap it up as if it were ale. Merry and Pippin had looked on his horror as the prince that they looked up to and almost worshiped for his kindness was treated with such violence.  
  
Finally, Merry had had enough, and doing something that he knew was complete folly, he thrust himself over the upper body of the unperceiving Elf, protecting him as much as possible. He could hear Pippin's cries in the background and the jeering of the Orcs above him, who, for a moment continued to bring the tails of the whips down upon his small back  
  
Indeed it hurt and Merry felt his small body convulsing with each and every lick of the thick black rope, but he knew that he was doing the right thing, that, to some extent he was doing the bravest thing he had ever done and would probably ever would do. He was also reassured by the knowledge that Legolas would have done the same for him, or anyone for that matter. Therefore, he stayed, completely at the mercy of the cruel Orcs that towered above him.  
  
Soon, but too late for Merry's liking, the harsh blows had ceased and he felt himself getting dragged off of the bleeding Elf. He was practically thrown at Pippin, who cooed over him like one would a child, but when the Elf was brought to them, they both turned their attention to the pale being.  
  
He was pale beyond that which was normal of an Elf and he harboured dark rings under his eyes almost making his face look skull like. His hair was still surprisingly neat and that alone stayed unchanged by the hardships that he had just suffered. His back was a mess to say the least. It was covered in welts and bleeding tears as well as an inflamed wound from an arrow. It was slightly greenish in colour and both Merry and Pippin could tell that it was the result of some poison used by the cursed creatures that now forced them across country.  
  
But that had been at least two or so hours ago and now they were on the move again. Legolas was still not awake and slung over the shoulder of the leader of the Orcs. Merry had the feeling that the leader had some form of ownership of the Elf though nothing had passed to confirm that suspicion. Maybe it was just the fact that it was the leader and that any Elf was a worth while possession in the Orcs eyes - whatever it was, it sickened Merry to even think of Legolas 'belonging' to an Orc.  
  
Deep down Merry knew that he still held the hope that Strider would come for them. Boromir was dead, he had seen it himself, but Aragorn, he refused to let himself believe that the ranger and leader of their group could be dead. Gimli, if alive, was in no condition to aid them, and Sam and Frodo would be well on their way to the dark lands of Mordor by now. With Legolas captured and wounded that left only Aragorn to help him. That hope was the only thing that allowed him to speed up at the Orcs bidding and fight the pain in his back.  
  
In some strange way, it seemed almost poetic that their only hope should be Strider - Estel - the one called 'Hope' by the Elves. Perchance it was some dark workings of fate, that the one entitled as such would be the only one to be able to bring such a precious gift. That was what it was, a gift, something that should be treasured above all in the darkest of times, just like this one. 'Twas Legolas who had taught him that, he that told him to never give up hope and to always look towards the light of the stars when all else seemed gloomy and false. Merry only hoped that Legolas himself would remember that once he awoke. That the Elf would remember the words that he repeated to himself repeatedly;  
  
"Ælis onam estel, tithen min; gar estel anna n i Elenath sila." [Never give up hope, tiny one; have hope as long as the stars shine.]  
  
*****  
  
Aragorn froze. Up ahead, through the shadows of the trees, he could make out a figure rising from the ground. It was bulky yet short thus suggesting an Orc while also saying nay to the possibility. The figure was moving slowly, as if in pain and sooner than Aragorn would have liked the figure turned to face him.  
  
Aragorn lifted his sword and taking a deep breath, started to run towards the now crouching figure. His feet ate up the distance quickly and as he did so, he soon became aware of a shining on the figures head that implied a helm.  
  
Realisation hit him almost immediately and he dropped his raised sword to his side as he quickened his pace to Gimli's side.  
  
"Gimli!" he yelled as a statement, not a question.  
  
"Aragorn?" Gimli's voice sounded pained and stressed, as if it tore his throat when he forced the words to pass his lips.  
  
Aragorn sunk down next to his friend, taking in the full extent of his wounds quickly with his eyes. The damage did not seem too bad but he knew the pain that such injuries would cause. As long as there was no internal bleeding, Gimli would be back to his normal self in a few days, but, with the lack of Legolas and the missing hobbits, Aragorn doubted that a few days was something that they had.  
  
"What happened?" Aragorn whispered in fear of what he may hear while he helped Gimli into a better sitting position. He then reached to his side a pulled out a small flask of water that he kept in a leather pouch strapped to his belt. Handing it to the Dwarf, he waited in apprehension for the explanation that was to come.  
  
Gimli started out slowly, as if the memories were hazy, but soon the terrible words flowed from his mouth in a quick rush, as if wanting to be rid of them. "And then they, they took Legolas with the halflings." He finished, his voice quaking slightly. As he raised the flask to his lips again, Aragorn noticed the shaking of his hand and knew just how the Dwarf felt. "What of Boromir?"  
  
Aragorn's heart sank. He had yet to tell his friend of what had happened to the man and he was somewhat unsure on how to do it, especially after all that Gimli had been through. Nevertheless, he had a right to know, and Aragorn found that the best way to tell him was just as it happened. "Boromir has fallen." He said quietly. "He put himself in the way of an arrow meant for me." The ranger's head lowered in what he was not certain as to be grief or shame.  
  
Gimli was silent for sometime as he just stared out into the surrounding woods. When he did speak it was the last words that Aragorn wanted to hear, "what are we going to do, Aragorn?"  
  
Aragorn felt like shouting at him not to ask him such important questions. He did no deserve the Dwarf's loyalty and willingness to follow him no matter what happened. He had failed, he had not been able to stop this - or was it that he had not tried hard enough? Aragorn felt more then ever that he was unfit to lead, even to the last person that remained of the fellowship, it was just all too much for him to handle. "I do not know, Gimli, I just do not know!" he finally said, utterly defeated.  
  
Gimli studied him for awhile not really knowing what to say to such an admission. He had always thought that Aragorn held all the answers, that he alone could be the one to see this quest through. Granted that, towards the arrival at Lothlorien, he had the same feelings about Legolas, as if he were silently and discreetly helping Aragorn lead yet allowing the man the credit. This had not bothered Gimli at all - two leaders were better than one - and once he had started to give the Elf a chance, he was able to see that he was a born leader.  
  
At first, he had wondered why Legolas did not guide the fellowship after Gandalf's fall into shadow, but soon enough, he believed that he had the answer. Legolas could lead and what's more, the prince knew that he could. Aragorn on the other hand could, but had such self-doubts that it clouded his capability. Legolas had wanted to help the man, probably prepare him for the day that he would have to embrace his fate as King of Gondor and so he did not stand in the way of Aragorn leading. Granted that he had helped from the background, he had tried to keep out of it as much as possible, but obviously, Aragorn was reliant on even that little bit of support.  
  
Finally, Gimli knew what to say, "Aragorn," his voice was soft, trying not to freak out the ranger any more then he already was, "what would Legolas do in thus situation?"  
  
It obviously worked as straight away Gimli could see that Aragorn was thinking to himself, trying to get inside of his best friend's head. "He would," he breathed, "he would first see to your wounds, then to Boromir - he would not want to leave his body to rot with the Orcs - and then he would follow his missing comrades." Aragorn had become a little more confident as he spoke; "even if it were to the ends of the earth." he finished.  
  
Gimli looked at him the best he could in the darkness and nodded slowly. "Come then, let us do as he would. Take me back to where Boromir fell and our possessions still lay."  
  
With that said, Aragorn helped Gimli in getting to his feet and the two made their way back through the forest as quickly as they could.  
  
*****  
  
The sun was high in the sky by the time they had finished checking Gimli's wounds, and, deducing that there was no inner damage, the two remaining fellowship members set about cleaning the area. They collected up their belongings, and that of their friends which they hope to return to them. Then, without a word being spoken, Aragorn lead Gimli back to where Boromir had fallen.  
  
The clearing was just as Aragorn had left it; the bodies of slain Orcs scattered all over the clearing and Boromir's lifeless corpse was still leaning against the trunk of a large oak tree. The two friends had already discussed what they were going to do with their dead comrade and they silently moved to his side.  
  
Aragorn supporting his head and Gimli his legs, they carefully picked the man up and carried him to the banks of the Anduin. As in the northern tradition they layed him in one of the small boats that was filled with small stick and dried leaves. Placing the man weapons and belongings - all except the horn of Gondor as Aragorn wished to be able to give it to the man's father - in with him, they then put the other boat over the top, forming a coffin. Using a single piece of rope to bind the top to the bottom, they pushed it out into the middle of the river.  
  
Returning to shore, Aragorn took up an arrow and his bow. The arrow had a small section of cloth wrapped around its head, drenched in a bit of leftover wine from Lothlórien. While allowing the flames of a small campfire to lap up at the cloth until it was burning strongly, Aragorn stood and stared at the boat that was slowly making its way out into the current of the water.  
  
Fitting the arrow to his bow, he took careful aim, working hard to stop his hand from quivering. He kept his back straight and his legs planted well apart while his middle finger was pressed against his tooth to better his hand. Allowing for the movement of the object that he aimed for, he constantly aimed just a little in front of the floating coffin. Then, finally, Aragorn released the string.  
  
The loud twang echoed off the surrounding trees and the water of the lake as the arrow was released. It stayed true to its target and landed perfectly in the small gap between the two boats. Within seconds, a bright glow could be seen coming from within the confines of the boats, and a few moments after flames licked hungrily at the sides of the structure. Soon it was just a floating flame; its reflecting dancing in the stream as it picked up speed until finally it was no more. Whether it had burnt down or it had disappeared out of sight, it was gone and Aragorn felt it customary to say something.  
  
Not knowing what to say for one of his races' fallen, he used an old Elven blessing. The words slipped easily and quickly from his mouth, yet the meaning behind them was clear. Even Gimli who could not understand the Sindar felt goose bumps break up on his skin.  
  
"Olod lith mel tôl; an lith valmet ællan. Lothron lîn erúss na cil a le golo uisidh, nin gwanar, nin mellon. Na maes, Boromir." [From ash we came; to ash we will return. May your journey be swift and you know everlasting peace, my kinsmen, my friend. Be well, Boromir.]  
  
With his head bowed, Aragorn walked off into the tress, Gimli silently following him.  
  
*****  
  
Unwelcomed consciousness flooded back to the Elf, his head spinning although his eyes were firmly pressed shut. A foul reek filled the air and his quick senses automatically put a name to the stench. Orcs. He could hear them cursing each other in their loathsome Black Speech and the harsh sound of the evil laughter that occasionally escaped their lips.  
  
He wanted to be away from the filth that was the Orcs, but he knew, even before he tried to move, that he was in no condition to try and fight. He could feel the shaft of his own arrow still within the deep wound on his shoulder, and the new path that it had forced itself into due to the attack of the last Orcs he and Gimli faced. The wound burned all the way through, as if a hot poker had been driven into the depths of his wound in a feeble attempt to cauterise it. Yet when travelling with the Orcs, he knew that any attempt to help his wound was just a thought of folly.  
  
His body was still numb from the poison, yet he could feel it slowly starting to wear off and the tingling feeling returning slowly, starting from his toes. He knew that he was lying on his stomach and for reasons that he did not know, he could feel the wind brushing gently across sections of his back, which was also stinging. His arms were tied painfully tight behind his back till the point of not being able to feel the circulation in his fingers.  
  
Allowing a slight sigh to escape his lips, he reluctantly opened his eyes and was greeted with the dark colour of the dirt below him. Not in any hurry to give attention to his captors, he did not move his head, just stared into the welcoming darkness of the soft dirt, wishing to be swallowed up by the comforts of nature.  
  
A few moments after there was a slight rustle of movement off to his right, followed by a pair of small hands resting on the back of his neck. At first this puzzled Legolas but then he started to remember the full details of his capture, including the two little hobbits that were also taken. Deciding that no matter how much he did not want to see the Orcs that surrounded him, he did want to see the little ones again to make sure that they were ok.  
  
Turning his head to the right, he did his best to fake a reassuring smile. It was Merry who sat next to him, and Pippin was beside him. Both were looking down upon the Elf, and when they saw his face and his smile, they returned it, despite their own fears.  
  
"Legolas!" Merry exclaimed happily, yet he was smart enough to keep quiet. The little one had moved so he was right next to the Elf and had started to stroke his hair tenderly.  
  
At this, Legolas just smiled. He did not know what to say, and even if he did, he was afraid that his voice would betray his fears and worries that he wished to keep hidden from the Hobbits. He knew that he had to protect them - not out of duty but out of want - and the first step in doing that was not to show them how scared he was himself.  
  
"Ashbukra," an Orc called across to who Legolas identified as the Orc that had held him throughout the beating of Gimli. "Alag Gologflasug!" [That Elf is speaking] it howled with an excited pitch. Neither Legolas nor the two hobbits knew what it was that was said, but by the way the entire camp turned and faced Legolas, the Elf knew it was not good. Every Orc now harboured a sly smile and slowly, the one known as Ashbukra started to advance on the wounded Elf.  
  
The hobbits bit back the want to flee in fear and stayed by their friend, not knowing what else to do. Pippin reached out behind his back and took Merry's hand while the other hobbit continued to stroke Legolas' hair. For his part, Legolas had not even flinched even though every muscle in his body was screaming at him to run.  
  
The large Orc, flanked by four others continued their approach, evil flaring deep within their green-yellow eyes. One of the fell beasts reached behind him and pulled out a small curved blade dagger and twisted it between his fingers menacingly. Two other Orcs came in behind Merry and Pippin and wrenched them to their feet, dragging them a small distance away. The two hobbits cried out to the Elf that still lay there, unable to move due to pain and the slowly wearing off poison. One of the Orcs kicked Legolas in his stomach with a steel capped boot forcing the Elf to roll onto his right side. Then Ashbukra knelt down and ran his stubby, twisted hands through the elf's golden hair. The creature grabbed Legolas' chin between scaly fingers, jerking the prince's head up and forcing him to his feet. Legolas felt as if his legs were made of jelly and he found himself needing the hands of the Orc on his chin as a support else he fall back to the ground. Ashbukra walked his fingers up the side of the Elf's pale cheek while his other held on tightly to the Elf by the chin. Running his hand over the other side of the prisoner's face, he mocked the elf's fairness, which was the complete reverse of Legolas' captors.  
  
Ashbukra's blood-shot yellow eyes burnt into the bright blue of Legolas' and Legolas met the twisted creatures' gaze squarely. The lack of fear in the Elf's eyes angered the Orc, who lashed out at the Elf's head with his thick knuckles, catching Legolas in the left cheekbone. Had it not been for the Orcs strong grasp on his face, Legolas would have fallen with the force to the impact to his face, but, if anything, the Orcs other hand just added to the force as his head had no where to retreat to after the bow.  
  
In his ringing ears, Legolas could dimly make out the startled cries of Merry and the soft sobbing of Pippin off to his right. The Elf hoped that the Orcs, as frighting a thought as it was, did not grow tired of him so not to turn on the little ones.  
  
Although they tormented any prisoners, Orcs seemed especially fond of visiting their cruel attention on Elves and Legolas guessed that it was from the fact that the creatures remembered that they used to be one of them. One of the light-hearted beings that loved the forest and the world so much. They had never forgotten that they had once come from the tortured and mutilated descendants of Legolas' people, that they had been taken over to the dark and that no one, especially the Elves had helped them. 'Twas that reason that Orcs hated and feared Elves with a fiery passion. They hated anything that held beauty, anything that took strength from the natural word and above all they despised Elves.  
  
Legolas had never forgotten that the Orcs were once his people; that every time he drew the thick, black blood of an Orc in battle he was killing something that had come from his own race - something that could have been related to him. He had felt a murderer the first time he had found out the Orcs secret. For all of his life he had killed them with not even a second thought, as to him they were evil beings of the dark. The day that he was told that through the First Age Melkor had taken the Elves and twisted them into the horrible things that he slew he had not believed it, not wanted to believe it. Nevertheless, it soon became clear that he was indeed told the truth of the matter and that was even worse. He had found himself felling sorry for the disgusting creatures that had once lived among the trees and somewhat unwilling to kill them. It had taken him years to get over the fact of their heritage and to see the beasts for what they were once again. Slowly, ever so slowly he got use to the fact that he was killing something that, through a terrible twist of fate, could have been him or a friend. He would push all such thoughts out of his head and give into the natural need and instinct of survival. These fell beasts had no problem with wishing to kill him and so he had to have no problem with slaying them.  
  
Legolas felt himself being dropped to the ground, discarded like an unwanted rag and he fell limply to the dirt. One of the Orcs that had accompanied Ashbukra landed a sharp and heavy clout to his midsection followed by another to his shoulder. Legolas curled around his stomach in hopes of protecting himself from the angry Orcs but it was to no avail.  
  
The Orc that had originally seen the Elf awake pulled out a think, black, nine-tailed whip woven with small pieces of metal. Moving to behind the Elf, he raised his hand up and let it fall upon the curled over back. The whip descended without mercy, tearing at his shirt and already torn flesh, burning lines of searing pain across his shoulder blades. Legolas' body tensed and jerked as the arched slashes ripped the back of his tunic and his tore open his bound arms. The whips tails shredded the green cloth of the Elf's tunic and it slowly became stained with a glimmering crimson as Elven blood soaked through.  
  
Legolas' golden hair had fallen over his face through the movement his body made in reaction to the lashes, and it half concealed the Elf's grimaces of agony. Legolas' intake of air came in short, ragged and gasping breaths that were often cut short by yet another fall of the whip. The archer's lips were pressed into a tight, pale line and his brow knotted in pain at ever stroke. Behind him, his bound hands balled tightly into fists and he could feel his short nails starting to bite into his skin as well as the ropes cutting into his wrists.  
  
Legolas cursed himself for not being able to move, for not being able to stand up to them, but in doing so he only succeeded in making himself angrier.  
  
Vicious and swift kicks by heavy booted feet again rained down upon the Elf as the whip finally let up. Steel boots connected with his shoulder, his chest and even a few to his back causing him to whither in pain this way and that ere centring painfully on his ribs. Kicking him again and again, the Elf knew from the fire tearing through him that more than one of them was broken.  
  
Ashbukra yanked Legolas partially upright by his hair although the gasping elf tried to remain hunched over his screaming ribs, and laughed into the helpless Elf's face.  
  
Holding the Elf tight, the Orcs' forced him into a kneeling position on the ground, allowing better access to his back for their whips. One of the Orcs pressed Legolas' head to the dirt floor with his boot on the Elf's neck.  
  
Legolas could tell that they were angry at his defiance in crying out and yet he could also see that even if he did grace their ears with his held in screams, they would continue. 'Twas but a game for them, a sick, brutal game that they relished playing. They enjoyed causing the Elf such pain, and even if he did not shout out, they knew that they were doing it, that silently inside the Elf was screaming so loudly that it could cause one to deafness.  
  
Again, the whips descended upon the prince only this time they had full access to his half exposed back. Boots found targets at his sides and one painfully connected with the upper half of his right arm, near his shoulder. Legolas had no way of telling if it was broken as a white hot fire spread through his whole body, wiping out any individual hurts and manifesting them into one.  
  
The Orcs jeered and laughed as lash after lash fell upon the bloodstained pale body and tore away cloth as well as skin. Legolas' back pained him like he had been struck with summer lighting and he could feel the slight movement of the air about him moving in and out of the torn flesh.  
  
The archer's breath became even shallower as he forced himself to stifle the cries that were catching in this throat, begging for release. His crouched position made his ribs scream and burn in a hellish fire and he could have sworn that he felt the tattered ends of bone sink into the flesh inside him. The boot at his neck kept pushing harder and harder, sinking his head down into the blood soaked dirt beneath him. Line after line of pain scorched his back; the little bits of metal cutting like razors with some lodging themselves within the gash they had just made. He hated to be so helpless and to have to submit to the beating that the Orcs were inflicting upon him, but there was nothing he could do. Increasingly he was wishing that the effects of the poison were not wearing off as with each passing stroke of the whip his body came further out of the numbness that had rendered him unmoveable.  
  
The hobbits were screaming out for their friend although Legolas could not hear them. So far, no hurt had been done to them within this violent outburst of the Orcs, but they had been forced to watch as the Elf that they both adored was beaten within inches of his life. They both had tears streaming down their faces as they saw Legolas' weak body getting abused repetitively by the foul creatures that hovered around the Elf.  
  
Legolas had still refused to give his tormentors the satisfaction of his cries and fought hard to control the natural reaction of his body as he was beaten. Biting down on his lower lip in an attempt to silence his cries, he squeezed his eyes closed and prayed for it all to be over. As a club impacted upon his back, the Elf bit right through his lip making him grimace even more as the metallic taste of blood filled his gasping mouth. Tears of silver snaked down his cheeks as he swallowed a mouth full of his own blood only to make him reach violently, bringing the thick, red substance back up. He spat it out on the other boot of the Orc that held him pinned to the ground by his neck only to have another Orcish boot collide with his jaw, dislocating it.  
  
It was then that the first and last groan escaped the Elf's pale lips.  
  
The Orcs seemed to be encouraged by the slight noise and they set their attention back to the whips that they held, bringing them down even harder then the times before their cheers and laughs increased.  
  
Legolas, not allowing his captors to hear his cries again, simply went back to biting his already torn lower lip. Squeezing his eyes even tighter, he tried to remember the words of Aragorn when they were younger after Legolas' mother's death.  
  
*"Gar na le Estel, Laegolas nin mellon. Ælis onha am a ælis eridh ain ai Elenath tirpai le. Syd, ir maes ir Im uva n ai an gwend an hae athon i Elenath." [Hold to your hope, Legolas my friend. Never give it up and never forget that the stars watch over you. They, as well as I, will be there for you. Hold that in remembrance as friendship is far beyond the stars.]*  
  
Legolas' lips moved quickly as he repeated the last few sentences to himself in a silent plea to his friend of old. Even as the Orcs volleyed lash after lash upon his welted and bleeding skin, these words held hope and meaning to him. Hope that Aragorn was all right and that he, Gimli and whoever else remained would come and the knowledge that their meaning was true: friendship was beyond the stars.  
  
A hard kick came in contact with his arrow wound and Legolas felt the shard get pushed deeper into his skin. His vision was starting to blur and white spots flashed before his eyes upon the dirt. As more blows were directed at him, he knew that he was quickly loosing the battle to keep consciousness and for once in his long life, he did not fight it. He welcomed the overpowering blackness that consumed him and left him submerged in the cold, lonely world of dark dreams.  
  
*****  
  
Fire, it was everywhere, burning and destroying everything in its path. The trees, the animals, homes and people, they all perished, none able to escape the inferno that bore down upon them.  
  
He stood there, unable to do anything, unable to move. In the distance, he could hear the frightened call of a mother, looking for her lost child. In his eyes, he could see the child burning, setting fire to everything that it touched. He knew the small child to be dead, lying there engulfed by the red and orange flames, but it was the cause of the fire, the source of the pain and destruction.  
  
Then, before his very eyes, the child turned to a man. He was tall, with dark hair cut to his chin, his eyes flaring as if possessed. He had the look of a mad man, one who had long since given up the capability of rational thought. He could see it, mirrored in the man's eyes was a small golden ring, words of flame twisting around it's band. It hovered in the man's sight, just as the shadow hung over his head, and as he burst into flames, he stepped forward, stretching out a hand of flame, trying to reach the being that watched him.  
  
The watching form took a step backwards, staying out of grasp and as the man crumbled into a pile of ash, he saw another figure approaching from the north. This one was also tall; he had longer hair, down to his shoulders and with a slight wave. Piercing grey eyes stared blankly in front of him, not seeing the Elf that watched.  
  
He seemed in a daze, not knowing what to do or where to turn. He had no goal or destination and yet he still struggled on. Soon, his eyes became alive, looking left to right, as if searching for something. He came closer, placing one foot in front of the other and gradually his step became more purposeful as his eyes continued to search desperately for what he was looking for.  
  
The fire was raging now, it surrounded them, burning everything but the two beings that stood unharmed by it. Slowly, the Elf made his way to the man, peering through the harsh glare of light, trying to determine the face and its features.  
  
Relief flooded through him once he saw whom it was, and he yelled out to the man, begging him to stop. However, the roaring of the flames drowned his voice out and the man walked past with deaf ears.  
  
The Elf stared at the fleeting back of his last hope. Every part of him cried out to run after the man, but for some reason, he knew he could not. Looking down at his feet, he now saw the bonds of flame that surrounded his ankles, rendering walking impossible. He tugged frantically at them, wanting them off so he would be free to follow his friend, but they would not budge.  
  
In what he believed to be a last desperate hope, he started to jump towards the figure, feeling the heated fingers of the flames close in around the back of his neck and squeeze. It was no use, and soon he was forced to his knees in submission, letting go of any hopes that he still held. He was beaten, forced to yield and relinquish to his betters and captors. He was unable to go after the man, unable to go after Hope.  
  
*****  
  
Tbc.  
  
Hehehehe.  
  
*Does a happy dance* I'm good! Yet another chapter done and I hope you all liked it. I know a lot of you were opting for torture and there it was - but it will get worse - much worse. *Thinks of REALLY nasty thing that she dreamed about and is going to do next chapter!*  
  
Please review and let me know what you all think as that is what tells me what to do and what not too (as well as sometimes making my head expand REALLY large. Lol.)  
  
Bye bye,  
  
Minka Rain Greenleaf. 


	6. Body Crumbles

Disclaimer: I own everything!!!!!! Legolas is my *coughcough* personal trainer *coughcough*, Aragorn is my live-in grease monkey, Arwen is my scullery wench, while Gandalf is my electrician and lighting consultant. The twins reside in my office where they act as bookends, Haldir, Rúmil and Orophin of Lothlórien are on chains outside and are my guard dogs, Thranduil is my drunken-gold-digging father-in-law, Boromir of Gondor is my pincushion and Faramir is my pet rock. Elrond is the pizza guy from down the road, Saruman is my fortune teller and the owner of; "Saruman's Hotline, how may I see you?" Frodo I use instead of a mop, Sam is my cook and Merry and Pippin are my own personal stand up comedians. Galadriel is my manicurist, Gimli the bouncer of my flashy uptown club, the Ringwraiths are the local door to door salesman with heroin addictions and Figwit in the leader of the Mary-Sue army that is assembled outside my bedroom window. Sauron is the local neighborhood watch while Denethor is the crazy guy who lives in a box in the vacant lot next door. The Balrog is the substitute that my circus uses instead of a tiger, the army of the dead are what the stupid little kids next door are going to become if they don't shut the hell up, and the Lord of the Eagles is my personal fan. Glorfindel is the horse whisper that helped me after a riding accident, Isildur is the person that everybody uses as a punching bag when they walk past, Bilbo is the kleptomaniac of the street and Lurtz is my hairdresser. I am a man, have a son and am writing this from beyond the grave. Now, if for one moment you believe even a word of that then I must ask, did you by chance purchase anything small, round and tablet looking from nine door to door salesmen within the last couple of hours??  
  
Ok, here it is, the next part!!! First of all, I would like to apologize for the delay but sadly I have been rather sick recently (everything from asthma, labyrinthitice, an inner ear infection, whooping cough and now I have a busted rib! And considering that I have asthma and W.C, every time I cough it is making it worse! I am literally falling apart!) Plus my computer went through a phase of telling me that my mouse was not connected - and I am telling ya, it was that well connected that a sledge hammer could not have knocked it out!  
  
So, also, I would like to apologize if this is not one of my best works, as, between coughing, spinning out and threatening to bash up the computer, it has been rather hard to stay focused. Let me know if it is no good and I will happily rewrite it and post it back up!  
  
Ok, so a few things about this chapter..  
  
I have decided not to include the translations for the Black Speech within the text. Now, I did this for a reason (that, well seemed good at the time but not so good now), it is for the sake of emotional distress of the reader. *smiles evilly* I mean, poor Legolas, Merry and Pippin can't understand them, so why should you? It adds to the fear and apprehension that you feel when you know that they are planing something that you can't understand, thus making it easier to relate to the characters in that small fashion.  
  
There a few basic Sindarin words used in this in a description form and because of the way that they are used, I have not included the translations, but most of you would know them I think. They are as follows. Ilthil - moon Elenath - starry host Anor - sun Fuin-menel - night sky.  
  
The constellation that Legolas talks about is made up off the top of my head and has no real connection to anything at all, just made to look good on paper!  
  
The nasty thing that I was going to do to Legolas will be done next chapter (explanation at bottom as it will give away part of this chapter)  
  
Umm, as for the Legolas muse, he has taken a paid vacation for a little while down on the houseboat. You see, Lady V, he and I have been getting on too well lately and it is starting to scare both of us, so that is why he has not made an appearance. But he was thoughtful enough to send Elladan and Elrohir along to be my new muses (Aragorn is locked in the shed outside cause he pissed me off) as well as healers. So yes, I currently have four muses. (Story about our lives and being attacked by Mary-Sues' on my Bio page if anyone cares to read it).  
  
Now, it is with that said that Elrohir would like to say a few things. *Elrohir moves to the keyboard that he seems to already be able to use* Elrohir: Legolas has been giving me lessons. Ok, now that I have stolen the limelight for a bit, I would like to (shamefully) place a plug in this story to another one of Minka's. It is called 'Serenity' and stars none other but yours truly! Now you see, the problem is, it is a new style of writing for Minka (it is all harmonic and flowery yet still dealing with life, death and all that is involved with the world) and she has told me that if she doesn't get good feedback on it, that she will never write another story like it let alone staring me!!!!! Now, we can not have that happen, so this is what I ask, please go a read it; it is a one shot, ten minute read that is completed - and well, it has ME!!! Minka: Elrohir, get off the keyboard now! Elrohir: You know, you were a lot nicer when you were on your deathbed! Minka: yeah, everyone is! Move it! *Elrohir goes off to find something else to do* sorry about that, he is slightly narcissistic about his whole 'first staring role' thing. I think he thinks he is going to take over Legolas' popularity or something - poor delusional, cute Elf!  
  
Oh, and the title of this chapter was taken from my new favorite band and obsession of the month, Dry Cell. They are a cool underground band kinda like Linkin Park, Ill Nino, Hoobastank and maybe even a bit of Adema! (As you can see, I have a rather 'different' taste in music!) Sadly though, since I am stuck in Australia, they don't have a CD so I am forced to download all the songs. I mainly listened to 'I Confide' while writing this and 'Ordinary' - if anyone cares!  
  
Anyway, that is all from me! On with the story (finally - hey, do any of you read all that crap anyway?)  
  
*****  
  
Shadows Within; Darkness Without.  
  
Part Six.  
  
Body Crumbles.  
  
*****  
  
Aragorn woke with a start and jumped out of his blanket. His heart was racing and the ranger could feel the beads of sweat drip slowly down his face and into his eyes. Blinking rapidly, he brushed the perspiration away and looked around their makeshift camp. All was dark and even with Aragorn's keen eyesight, all he could see were the basic outlines of the shapes that he remembered from a few hours ago. His pack was in the same place, the remains of a fire were still there and Gimli was sitting against a tree on the other side of the doused out fire, watching him with concerned eyes. Even without being able to see the look upon his companion's face, Aragorn know that he had given the dwarf a shock for the second time that night.  
  
The dwarf had been on watch and was surprised to see the ranger spring up out of the supposed deep sleep that he had fallen into a few hours ago. It was the second time that Aragorn had woken in such a matter in that night and as far as Gimli knew, it was only the second time since the beginning of the journey.  
  
Only a few hours ago at the most, had seen the ranger shoot up in his bed, awake and sweating as if he had been sitting in a hot spring for too long. It had taken Aragorn almost an hour to settle back down and drop off to sleep again and that was what Gimli thought to be that last of the strange happenings of the night. But he was soon proven wrong as Aragorn was now sitting again, wiping the sweat from his eyes and panting as if he had run all the way from Rivendell.  
  
Concentrating on returning his breathing to normal, Aragorn tried to ignore the worried look that he knew Gimli was sending him. Knowing that he would not be able to get back to sleep that night, and also knowing that he did not wish to, Aragorn rose and walked towards his friend. Sitting beside him without so much as a word, he leant his head back against the tree and stared at the stars. Legolas always loved the stars, he told himself and felt his heart sink a degree lower. What if his friend would never be able to look upon them again?  
  
It was only the first night since their capture, but he already knew that some ill had befallen their missing comrades. Both he and Gimli had run the entire day though, after the funeral of Boromir of Gondor, and had only stopped when it was completely necessary. Aragorn would have liked to have kept going, but he knew that Gimli needed rest no matter how much he claimed that he did not, and he also knew that if Gimli could say that he did not need rest, that he was probably doing the same. As much as Aragorn would have like to think he did not need the rest, he knew that deep within himself he was craving for it, that his soul was calling and begging him to stop in his frantic run and seek the recuperation that was vital to their success.  
  
It was also far too hard to search for clues on the trail in the darkness of the moonless night, and the risk of missing something was too great to run. And so, with a heavy heart, Aragorn had called for a stop for the night, and when Gimli had offered to take first watch, he did not argue.  
  
Keeping his eyes fixated on the constellation that he knew that the Elves used as a guide if they ever became lost, the ranger failed to notice Gimli's watchful gaze. Gimli had often heard Legolas talk about the constellation that Aragorn was currently staring at, 'I Raindir Calen' it was called, 'The Wanderer's Light' in the Sindarin tongue. It was a favorite of the prince's as he said it always reminded him of home and that, even in these dark times, some things still remained unwavering and true, non-deceptive. Gimli had first heard of it when Legolas was pointing it out to the little ones', as Boromir had called the hobbits, when they were suffering from the loss of Gandalf in Lothlórien.  
  
Gimli, as well as Aragorn, who was also there, could still remember the words that the Elf had told the sobbing hobbits while holding them all to him.  
  
*"Do you all see that constellation over yonder?" he had asked while taking a hand off Pippin's shoulder to point to the stars in question. When he had received all the positive nods that he sort for, he continued. "In my realm, we Silvan Elves refer to it as I Raindir Calen - The Wanderer's Light - as it is constant and forever true. No matter what season or what ill befalls the land, it hangs ever over the woodland realm of Mirkwood - or Greenwood the Great as it was once named - and will guide any traveler who knows what to look for to the Halls of the Elven King - my father. There one will find rest and safety, no matter what burdens lay upon their hearts and souls." At this he squeezed the Ring Bearers shoulder encouragingly but without taking his eyes from the stars that all four hobbits were looking at in awe. "Remember that, my little friends', know that you are always welcome to follow that light to me and my home, and if any ill shall fall upon us on this quest, and we become separated, know that I will look for you on the road to my home."  
  
Legolas had then made them promise that if they were separated by some cruel twist of fate, that they would use those stars to get to his home where they would be safe and where either he, or Aragorn would find them. All the hobbits seemed eager to agree to Legolas' words and promises and it seemed to lift their spirits a little at the chance that they would never be isolated.*  
  
Even Aragorn had felt inclined to believe such words from the Elf that had been more then a pillar of strength to them all at such a critical time, pushing his own suffering aside to help the others. Yet now, now Legolas was the one that was lost and in need of help and no one was there for him when he needed it most, and Aragorn knew that the through of it was slowly killing him from deep inside. He had let his friend down in the worse possible way and what if, after all Legolas had said in comfort for others, no help or comfort was to be given to him?  
  
"The Wanderer's Light," Gimli said quietly, disturbing Aragorn's thoughts and causing the man to jump slightly from the break in the silence, "do you remember what Legolas told the hobbits?"  
  
Aragorn squeezed his eyes closed, not wishing to relive it for the second time that night, and merely nodded his reply to Gimli. Again both sat in silence; just looking to the stars for an answer that they longed for, praying that it would shoot across the sky like a shooting star or arch like a rainbow to lead them to their lost friends'.  
  
After a few minutes, it was again Gimli that broke the slightly uncomfortable silence that had befallen them again. "What did you dream of?" he asked concerning the startled waking of Aragorn both times that night. He had never seen their leader plagued by horrors of the night, not even after what had occurred in the dark, hellish world that had become Gimli's once beloved Moria.  
  
Aragorn fought down the urge to bark at Gimli and inform him that it was none of his business, but he knew that to do such was folly and that Gimli was only concerned. Swallowing deeply, Aragorn tried the best to sort out the images that he had been so effected by in his own head before attempting to put them into words.  
  
"It was horrible," was all he could say at the moment and he was thoroughly relieved that Gimli asked no more questions and just waited for him to continue at ease and in his own time. Images of fire and pain came floating back to him, as if he had cast them out into the sea on a windy day, only to have them be brought back by the ever rolling waves that broke against the shore.  
  
"There was fire," he continued slowly, "and Boromir was there. He was burning, setting fire to all that he touched and destroying all that was in his path."  
  
Reaching over to his side, Gimli pulled out his water skin and handed it to Aragorn, who gratefully took it and a long drink, trying to douse the fire that seemed to lap up his throat. Re-screwing the lid on top, he placed it on the ground between them and yet could not get himself to let go. He clung to it as if it was the only thing that could save them from the fire that was deep inside his heart and reflected in his head and mind, that scorched his memory with the pain that he knew Legolas had experienced.  
  
"He - Boromir - was trying to engulf Legolas, trying to reach out to the Elf and burn him as well, and yet he could not, not before he fell. And then I was there, I was there, Gimli, and I could see the whole thing and yet I could not make my eyes look at Legolas, even when he called me, when he begged for my help with his own eyes I could still not look at him." Aragorn was well aware of the air that Gimli had sucked in, in shock at his words, and the ranger could feel Gimli's eyes piecing his cheek through the dark of the night. "Then - then I walked on, I left him behind and with the Orcs that I could sense at my back. I could hear him, Gimli, not out loud, but as if his voice was in my head, and he was calling for me, calling for you and the protection of the Valar as the Orcs overcame him and forced him to yield. It was horrible."  
  
Laying his heavy head in his hands, Aragorn refused to say anymore even though he knew that there was much more to tell. There was the beating that he had witnessed his Elven friend receive - lash upon lash and boot upon boot sailed down to impact painfully with the slim Elven body, colouring the skin and staining the ground red with blood. He had heard the cries of the hobbits as they too watched terror struck as one of the fellowship was beaten into submission and darkness, knowing that there was nothing that either of them could do. Aragorn knew that they cried inwardly for him to come to them, to save them and their Elven friend from such bleak torture and darkness, such fury that could not be let out but must be kept in if they wished to live.  
  
His dream had held an odd feeling, as if it were not really a dream but another twisted form of reality in which he was forced to sit idly by and watch. To be helpless and useless to his friend that seemed to be so close and yet was leagues away and completely out of reach. To look on as one of the kindest beings that he had ever met was treated in a way that nothing should be. Not even Orcs deserved such cruelty; although Aragorn knew that now, after what Legolas had been through, or at least what he dreamt Legolas had been through, it would never be the same. That now they would suffer at his hands, as well as Gimli's and that they would never grant them a moments pity or sympathy.  
  
Sighing, Aragorn once again lifted his head to the bright stars that burned in the dark recesses of the Fuin-Menel. Once again acknowledging that he would not go back to sleep even if his life depended upon it, he turned to Gimli and smiled in the darkness. "Go get some rest, my friend, I will keep watch."  
  
Gimli studied him for a moment, and then, as if he had read Aragorn's thought, nodded and stood. When he was over at his bed he cast one last look at his friend and leader ere flopping down and pulling the blanket over himself. "We will find them," he said, half to reassure Aragorn, and half to reassure himself.  
  
"I hope you are right," Aragorn replied without taking his eyes off the stars.  
  
"I'm always right!" Gimli said in jest, hoping to get Aragorn to smile.  
  
The effect of his statement was not lost, and as Aragorn looked upon 'The Wanderer's Light,' a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth and he felt that somewhere, deep, deep down, that all would be well. That Legolas and the hobbits would be all right and survive until he and Gimli came for them and that they would all be able to find the hope that they needed until such time.  
  
*****  
  
Pippin cast a worried glance to Merry, who was lying on his side watching over Legolas with the other small hobbit. Pippin was sitting up against one of the few trees that dotted the plain that they had been traveling over the past day, while Merry was only a few inches away on the ground. With the help of Merry, Pippin had maneuvered Legolas' head into his lap after the Orcs had returned the Elf to them after the beating that they had bestowed.  
  
The night was in its prime and yet even with the twinkling stars, neither could find any comfort. Again and again they retold each other what Legolas had told them about the stars and that one constellation that would always lead them to the Elf's home, but with every telling it seemed to have less and less meaning as still the Elf in question had not woken.  
  
Pippin was fretting over both of his friends who had been so harshly treated by their captors. He knew that Merry's back was causing him more trouble that what the other let on, and that it pained him with every movement. He could see it upon Merry's face, the pain and hurt that came with each and every breath and even the way he grimaced when the wind would occasionally blow his torn vest and shirt over the wounds.  
  
Though that was horrifying enough, Legolas was much worse for wear. The usually half-glowing Elf was deathly pale, almost cadaverous with his dark ringed eyes and bruised face. His lip was still seeping blood from where he had bitten through it, and his jaw, though back in its place, was swelled up and a sickly brown-blue. The rest of the Elf's body closely resembled his face, all swelled and bruised, cut and bloody and even Merry and Pippin could tell that there was more then just a few broken bones. Legolas' breathing was labored and both small hobbits could tell that he was in pain with every intake of air into his lungs. In truth, Merry was surprised that Legolas was even alive.  
  
It was through their quiet watch of the unconscious Elf that they first started to see signs of Legolas' stress. The Elf started to thrash about, angering his wounds and causing fresh blood to ooze out and onto Pippin's vest. Soft muttering came from the Elf in his native tongue that, with both Merry and Pippin's knowledge put together, they could only understand a few words. Among all the fluent dialogue, they were both shocked to hear Aragorn's name mentioned more then once, along with Gimli, Boromir and the rest of the fellowship.  
  
Sending Merry and horrified look, Pippin tried to comfort the shaking Elf with his words and by placing his hands upon the Elf's face, being as gentle as possible so not to hurt him. Both were beyond worried as their friend shrieked out into the night, calling to a salvation that they did not know was even coming.  
  
As Legolas' cries got louder, the Orcs' started to turn their attentions towards their captives, evil glints in their eyes. Ashbukra stood from his place by the fire and moved over to the three that were placed far from the comforting warmth that the flickering flames provided. Simply standing above them for a time and watching the Elf wither and sob in his sleep, Ashbukra only laughed. He relished in the fact that the Elf was finally giving into the pain and hurt of his broken body and was allowing the cries that the Orcs' had been denied only a few hours back whilst they had beat him.  
  
Another of the Orcs', the second in charged called Gilakpis, came over and stood near the leader, leering down at the Elf, but Pippin and Merry could detect something else in his hollow eyes. It was unease, maybe even fear that shone in the bright yellow centers as he looked down on the thrashing Elf.  
  
"Armaukdaggog. Mabullumnalt!" Gilakpis screamed at Ashbukra while thrashing his arms vigorously at Legolas and stamping his feet. Ashbukra turned his eyes on Gilakpis and a small growl passed over his lips.  
  
"Pakenbartasmir!" he shouted back while spitting in the other's eye. He too looked enraged, as if he had been slapped across the face by the younger Orc and as he continued to glare at Gilakpis his top lip curled up in a snarl, revealing his long, pointed fangs. However, Gilakpis stood his ground and growled back again in his own tongue. Ashbukra barked back and lashed out with his left claw and caught Gilakpis across a scaly cheek but before the wound could seep its black blood, another group of Orcs' came in and stood behind Gilakpis in silent support.  
  
All the while, Legolas had still kept to his cries of distress no matter what Merry and Pippin did to try and clam him down. The two hobbits could see something bad coming of all this and it made them more desperate to silence their friend, for their own sake as well as his. Especially his.  
  
Turning his attention back to the quarreling Orcs', Merry saw that the others had beaten Ashbukra in the argument and that the leader was now turning back to Legolas with a horrid snarl on his lips.  
  
"Latmabullumnalt!" it screamed, its harsh words aimed at Legolas. The sound of the fell voice worked to hush the Elf slightly but not completely and the Elven prince still muttered and gave the occasional shriek. "Latmabullumnalt!" Ashbukra yelled again, this time closer to all three and almost in Legolas' ear.  
  
"Nor an Udûn!" At the loud and uninvited noise, Legolas yelled out the loudest he had done all night, and from what Merry knew of the Sindarin tongue, Legolas was telling him to go to hell. Inwardly Merry smiled to himself, glad that Legolas had not given in yet and that he still seemed to have some wits about him.  
  
"Lat! Mabullum! Nalt!" Gilakpis had joined in the yelling match now, much to Ashbukra's dismay. When Gilakpis looked to Pippin, who was still stroking Legolas' sweaty brow in an attempt to keep him quiet, and repeated the same words, Pippin looked to Merry in helplessness.  
  
Plucking up his courage, knowing that it would be something that Legolas or Aragorn would do in such a time, Merry tried to reason with the Orcs'. "We do not understand," he said as loudly as he dared and when all green-yellow eyes turned to him, he sincerely wished that he had not spoken up. "We do not understand what you are saying!" Merry tried again, hoping that within this rabble, at least one would speak the Common tongue.  
  
"Lat! Mabullum! Nalt!"  
  
Looking to Pippin in frustration and fear, Merry gave up, not knowing what else to do. As more and more Orcs' gathered around and glared at the hysterical Elf, Ashbukra reached down and, before Pippin could do anything, grabbed Legolas by the hair and hurled the unconscious Elf into the air.  
  
Shaking him a few times, it soon became apparent that Legolas was not about to wake up, and, with not even the blinking of an eye, Ashbukra sent his fist hard into Legolas previously dislocated jaw, knocking it back out of place. Letting the now silent Elf crash back to the hard ground, Ashbukra turned, growled at Gilakpis and his supporters and stalked off in the direction of the fire.  
  
Exchanging a quick glance, both Merry and Pippin wasted no time in crawling over and, as gently and best as they could, dragging Legolas back to Pippin's lap.  
  
The Elven prince was once again silent but for the occasional whimper that came from his throat, and, as sad as it was, both Merry and Pippin were glad that he was now silenced, and that he had gotten off with only that one injury. When, after a few moments, Legolas turned over slightly and grabbed hold of Pippin's small waist in his sleep and burrowed his head in further to the small being, Merry could not but help smile at his friends'. At least they had each other and that was something to be thankful for.  
  
*****  
  
Aragorn watched as the first glimmering rays of sunlight streaked the darkened lands. It was a strange sight to witness after such a dark night and even stranger still to think that Anor would still rise no matter what happened. That slowly, she would peek her way over the horizon and bless the land with a glow that out lit even that of the stars. All this, while somewhere, within her range of light, three beings where held against their will by the foulest creatures of Middle-Earth - the very place that Anor stretched out to touch.  
  
And yet the world continued on, night gave way to the day, and at sunset, just like the thousands of nights before hand, going back all the way to the beginning of the Great Song that had shaped the world, Ithil and the Elenath would once again dominate the Menel. It was a terrible feeling, that while others suffered the world would go on and pay no never mind to them and their plight and that he, like the stars and sun, was forced to go along with the great cycle that was every day.  
  
Gently massaging the knots out of his neck, Aragorn looked to where Gimli was still fast asleep. The dwarf had had no problems during the night; no nightmares of their friends' at the hands of the Orcs', not so much as a startled cry in the middle of his slumber.  
  
Getting up and feeling the cramps of the night spent sitting upon the hard ground fully; Aragorn started to pack up his baggage quietly. Doing the same with most of Gimli's pack, he delayed waking his friend for as long as possible.  
  
Finally, when there was nothing else to be done, the ranger made his way over to the sleeping dwarf and shook him gently.  
  
"Awake, Gimli," he said as Gimli's eyes slowly started to blink their way open. "We must not linger any longer - we must be away!"  
  
Nodding somewhat groggily, Gimli slowly struggled to his paining feet and hoisted his pack to his back. True they had left most of their belongings behind after the breaking of the Fellowship and were travelling light, but it was still no encouragement to have to lift even the lightest pack onto his aching shoulders and pained back. The bruises from the Orcs had not really even began to heal yet and still every small movement caused white hot fire to shoot up and down his body. However, though this pain, Gimli had made the promise that he would not let it get in the way of their quest to save their missing friends, who, chances were, were in much more pain and suffering more torment than he had with his beating.  
  
Handing Gimli a piece of Waybread, Aragorn took a small section for himself and took note of the provisions that they had left. He was in possession of one and half cakes of the Elven food, and he knew that Gimli had one left within his pack. Both had a very limited water supply, even with the others' bottles that they had taken with them from Parth Galen, and, as far as Aragorn knew, there was not much in the way of accessible water until the Entwash, which was a good day's journey from their current position.  
  
Trying not to dwell on the hopelessness of the situation, Aragorn turned his head towards the West and looked over the land that lay before them. It was a plain; flat as any that he had seen and dotted with only the occasional tree.  
  
Looking back for Gimli's consent and receiving a nod, Aragorn set off at a slow run, making is way down from the small hill that they had rested on at the base of the Emyn Muil.  
  
Disregarding the need for rest or for vitals they kept to their pace, stopping only when both felt as if they would collapse, and even then, resting only for a few minutes, both knowing that every fleeting moment in time was essential for their friends' swift and safe rescue.  
  
Minutes blended into the next, hours formed and passed them by like the very essence of time had failed to stay the same and was now making its own rules of day and light. The Anor rose higher and higher in the arched sky, lighting more and more of the land as with each laboring footstep fell, another second passed into the minutes that were left far behind. Dust rose at the backs of the two hunters' ankles, only to settle back to the ground in a matter of moments, a few inches from where it once resided. Other than that, nothing was left of their passing, just the whispers upon the wind of two seeking a band of Orcs' and lost friends.  
  
*****  
  
Gilakpis had taken it upon himself to awaken the sleeping trio by applying a harsh kick to each stomach and an extra one to Legolas for good measure. Merry and Pippin had come around all to quickly, and yet still Legolas would not, or could not, wake up.  
  
Gripping his head tightly in his clawed hands, Gilakpis pulled the unconscious Elf to his feet and, tilting his head back, poured a thick, black liquid into Legolas' forced open mouth. Even from where they still lay, Merry and Pippin could smell the fell reek of the Orcs' draught and needless to say, it woke Legolas almost immediately.  
  
Legolas' normally, clear ocean-blue eyes had blinked open, covered in a thick film that almost created the effect of blindness. His look of shock did not go unnoticed by the Orcs' and only proved to pull more and more gruff laughter from their twisted mouths. As Legolas struggled aimlessly with the large Orc who held him so tightly, the full effect of the liquid started to take effect on his body.  
  
Slouching forward, his legs no longer able to support him, Legolas had found himself falling right into the Orc's arms, his head spinning and his stomach lurching. As the Orc pushed Legolas to the ground, the Elf felt the world spin as if he were about to black out and pass back into unconsciousness and yet found that he was not able to. Coughing violently and bring the oil-like substance back up his throat, Legolas could not help himself from gagging at the fell taste and smell. He could feel it, pulsing through his veins, mingling with his blood and slowly clogging his senses.  
  
Legolas' hearing almost immediately become hindered, as if he were listening to things that were miles away through deep fog, or under the crashing waves of the sea. With each and every cough that racked havoc upon his body, he felt the pains of his wounds intensify and his head pound as if hit with a blunt object. A new taste appeared in the back of his mouth, and as he coughed yet again, he soon found the source. A large glob of dark-tainted blood passed through his lips and onto the ground just in front of where he lay convulsing aggressively.  
  
Eyes widening in surprise, Legolas could start to feel an almost burning in the pit of his stomach, as with every cough that followed, more blood came forth to taint the ground.  
  
His previous wounds hurt him more then anything that he could ever remember and he was still painfully aware of the burning within his right rib cage, suggesting more then a few broken bones. His jaw was tight and barely moveable, making the process of coughing all the more hurtful and uncomfortable. In short, he felt as if he had been staked spread-eagled to the ground and a herd of wild horses had been set loose to run over him, trampling every inch of his body and turning him into a moving bruise.  
  
Nonetheless, he would still not allow himself to give in, not now, not ever and especially to these fell beasts.  
  
Raising his eyes so the Elven prince could look directly into the cold, heartless ones of Gilakpis as the Orc leered down on him. The Elf felt helpless and weak, defeated by the fell beasts and battered into submission. The very thought of it sickened him. He was the prince of Mirkwood and yet here he was, forsaken, useless and used as a toy to amuse a band of Orcs.  
  
The liquid that had just been poured down his throat seemed to be some form of Orcish poison and the Elf could feel the weakening effect that it was having on his already inefficient body. His limbs seemed to be loosing all ability to move, let alone all their feeling, and his head felt as if it had been shrouded in a thick cloud, fogging up his senses and all rational thought. Through all this, he could also tell that the draught was not designed to kill like most of the Orcs' potions, but it was used to enfeeble and force prisoners into obeying.  
  
Casting his eyes about the camp in order to evade the taunting gaze of Gilakpis, Legolas could not help but notice that Ashbukra, the one that had so openly displayed his leadership the day before, was sitting to the back of the camp, sulking while watching Legolas' sickness unfold. He had long noticed that Ashbukra had seemed to have placed some form of claim on him and that alone made him what to hurl - he belonged to no one, especially an Orc! No matter how much he hated it, Legolas was forced to acknowledge that there was nothing that he could do to right the situation, not yet at least. And yet now, Ashbukra seemed to have been overruled in his command by the disgusting beast that stood before him, laughing at his discomfort.  
  
Even now, as the new leader of the Orcs' looked down on him as if he were a steed that was to be brought or sold at a market, Legolas felt that twang of defiance that was now forever present.  
  
"Latnalt!" the Orc yelled in his face while allowing a drop of saliva to hit the Elf's cheek. Not caring and knowing that it made no difference if he had such a substance on his already defiled face, Legolas left it there, not giving the large Orc the satisfaction of seeing him wipe it away.  
  
"Latnalt!" it yelled again, this time a little louder. Legolas had no way of knowing what it was saying and so he sat there, never breaking eye contact with the beast that towered above his broken form, even when he coughed and more of his own blood slipped past his lips and down his chin.  
  
Not once since he had regained consciousness had Legolas allowed the Orcs' to see how much he hurt or how scared he truly was - again, that was a satisfaction that he would not grant them.  
  
"Latnardaggog? Lat! Nalt!" not even given the time to even half work out what the Orc was implying with his ostentatious arm gestures, Legolas found himself grabbed by his hair and pulled roughly to his feet, the tearing of a few golden strands gone unnoticed by both Elf and Orc.  
  
Not being able to stand on his own wobbly legs, Legolas was forced to half hang by his hair while using his feet on the ground as much as possible to brace himself. He could feel the slow tearing of his scalp as the skin was stretched far beyond its natural allowance and with much effort, he schooled his face into not betraying any of the tingling ache that was now spreading across his entire head.  
  
Forcing his legs to comply with his wishes, he managed, with a lot of effort, to stand upright even as the Orc continued to hold his hair. Both stood there, glaring each other down for the longest imaginable time, neither willing to submit to the other. However there was no possible way for Legolas to win in such a situation, and, as he continued to stare into the beasts eyes, Gilakpis raised his right hand and sent it with immense force across the Elf's cheek, forcing him back to the ground.  
  
"Molvafushaum! Rendjashat!" Gilakpis yelled at the other Orcs', who immediately started to pack up the small camp and get into a rough order for the long run of the day.  
  
Casting a look full of hate towards the still crumpled Elf, Gilakpis made his way slowly over to the two hobbits. Seeing this, Legolas tried the best he could to regain some form of control over his agonized body, and, crawling at first, slowly started to force himself to his feet, no matter how painful.  
  
Merry and Pippin, seeing the treatment of Legolas, had sunk back as far as they were able to considering their situation and the tree that grew directly behind them. When Gilakpis approached, both had wished that they were in a forest such as the Old Forest where Old Man Willow was able to swallow them up.  
  
Reaching for his cousins hand, Merry gave it a reassuring squeeze, fighting desperately within himself to try and control his fear of the monster that was now standing right over them.  
  
Seeing the courage of the two small hobbits gave Legolas a renewed strength as he came up to his knees, attempting to get to his feet without alerting Gilakpis of his ability to move and slow advancement.  
  
Gilakpis laughed at the two little ones' intertwined hands, and, moving quickly before anyone could react, grabbed Pippin by his full head of curly hair and hauled him to his feet. Although the hobbit barely reached his waist, the Orc, still had a small amount of trouble keeping the withering being in his grasp as Pippin kicked and thrashed about, crying out for the help of Merry.  
  
Merry found himself grabbed from behind and restrained as his cousin was taken from him, and with the terrified cries and sobs of Pippin, Merry's heart beat a thousand to one.  
  
Neither had noticed Legolas slowly getting to his feet behind the large lump of an Orc, and the Orc that was holding Merry was too busy with his own squirming bundle to care less about what was happening. All the other Orcs' of the camp were already in formation, waiting for their new leader to rejoin them and to give the order to move out.  
  
Pulling Pippin's head back and using a claw in the hobbits mouth to force it open, Gilakpis made ready to pour some the same drought that he had administered to Legolas down the hobbit's throat. Unplugging the small, twisted, black vile, he slowly lifted it to the now quiet mouth and placed the thick rim on Pippin's bottom lip.  
  
Merry looked on his horror as the entire scene unfolded in front of his tear filled eyes. First Legolas, now Pippin. Knowing that he was next was no constellation either but at the moment he only had eyes for his terrified friend. It was through watching with a morbid and unwanted fascination that Merry saw a slight glint of colour from behind the Orc. Trying not to draw any attention to where he was looking, Merry peered cautiously over Gilakpis' shoulder to see Legolas standing somewhat shakily to his feet. It had been his hair that had called out for Merry's attention as it almost sparkled in the sunlight of early morning.  
  
Legolas, in his determination not to see the little ones get hurt, had managed to get to his feet, if slightly unstably and slowly cover the gap between him and Gilakpis. Thankful for Pippin's sobs and cries, no matter how terrible they were to hear, Legolas covered the ground as best as he could, trying not to make any noise that exceeded that of Pippin's and Merry's.  
  
Making one last attempt to keep the foul smelling draught out of his mouth, Pippin clasped his teeth down on the scaly claw of the lead Orc and held on, even when the sickening taste of the Orc's black blood seeped between his teeth.  
  
Crying out in rage, Gilakpis literally shook his hand until the hobbit was shaken right off. On his part, Pippin had been rather hard to get off, even as his head rattled around with the vibrations of the Orc's waggling.  
  
Merry, knowing that Legolas was going to try something that a somewhat rational person would consider folly, continued to struggle with the Orcs that held him, causing a rather nice distraction for the beast. While he did not like the thought of what was happening to his cousin, he hated the thought of Legolas getting hurt more due to trying to protect them, but, at the same time, he also know that there was nothing that he could do to stop the Elf. Realizing the only thing he could do was to keep 'his' Orc busy so it would not notice the moving Elf, Merry did just that, struggling and biting at the hands that tried to restrain him.  
  
Looking frantically about him, Legolas knew that he needed a bit more of a plan then just to walk up and tap the Orc on the shoulder. Now that he was moving and putting his non-existent idea into action, the Elven prince was starting to think that it was not such a good idea after all. However, he could not let the little ones' suffer, not while he still had some sort of strength left.  
  
As he continued his search for someway to overpower the fell beast, Legolas' eyes fell upon something that seemed to glow under the light of Anor. Smiling slyly to himself, Legolas resolved what he was going to do in his mind and ran a quick plan through his spinning head. The key to what he was about to do relied on speed and strength, two of the things that he had very little left, but he knew that there was no other way. Summoning up all of the vital abilities that he could, Legolas reached forward, ready to do whatever it took to save the little hobbits.  
  
*****  
  
Aragorn turned his face towards the sun. It was fast becoming hot under her harsh rays even though the day had not progressed all that far. Turning back the way they had come, he saw Gimli laboring along a few meters back. It was obvious that his wounds were causing him pain, especially a nasty bruise that was on his side that had been hindering his ability to breath properly whilst running. Yet no matter how much Aragorn suggested that they rest, even though it was against his better judgement of the situation, Gimli refused, saying that there would be time enough for him to rest when the hobbits' and that 'folly Elf' were returned. Aragorn too could see the sense in that, but it was the fact that a wounded Gimli would be no real asset in a fight if one should arouse, and with Gimli's wounds they were travelling at a much slower rate than he would have liked.  
  
By the time the sun was half way to its zenith, they had reached and passed the West Cliff, heading steadily to the Entwash that snaked its way through the flat plain of the valley.  
  
When Gimli finally caught up with him, Aragorn looked the dwarf up and down. He looked as if he were about to collapse were he stood and his breathing was shallow, quick, and deeply concerning for the ranger.  
  
"Gimli, come," Aragorn said gently, "we must rest for a moment." Just as he had expected, Gimli automatically started to protest, claiming that he was fine and just in need of a sip of water.  
  
Sighing, Aragorn sent Gimli a deadly glare and flopped down on the ground, crossing his legs underneath him. "I am tired,' was all he said while reaching into his pack to pull out a water skin. He had made it quiet clear that he was not moving for at least a little while and as he continued to stare at Gimli, a small smile crept upon his face.  
  
Almost startled as it was the first true smile that he had worn since the departure from Lothlórien, Aragorn let the smile creep further upon his face, reaching his eyes. "Sit Gimli," he said finally at the weird look that he was receiving from his companion, "It does one good."  
  
"I swear by the very hilt of my axe that you grow stranger with each fleeting day, Aragorn - Strider - whoever you are." Gimli said with his own smile while carefully lowering himself down to the ground.  
  
At his comment Aragorn could not help himself and a soft chuckle passed his lips which soon turned into a full-hearted laugh.  
  
Still looking on at his friend as if he were slowly losing his grip on sanity, Gimli was rather surprised to find that the smile was contagious, and, before long he was holding his sides as he to laughed for no apparent reason.  
  
Neither knew why they were in the thralls of laughter, but neither one questioned it. It just felt good to be carefree even for that one second in time. To give themselves up to the little hope that had bloomed within their hearts, praying for it to flourish into something that would hold true and aid them when the true horror of their search came upon them.  
  
They sat there for close to half an hour, resting, recuperation and telling tales of amusement, all the while gracing the surrounding territory with a sound that it had not heard in many years.  
  
*****  
  
Gilakpis sent his bleeding fist into the side of Pippin's face, making the hobbit's world spin and, had it not been for the Orc's grip, he would have collapsed. At this Merry cried out, trying relentlessly to slap away the hands that held him so he could get to his friend.  
  
Taking the opportunity for all that it was worth, Legolas continued to stretch his hand slowly forward, praying that he could be able to do this and that his head would clear soon and allow him the ability to think straight again.  
  
When his hand had reached its destination, he curled it around the object that his eyes stayed fixated on, and, with one last prayer to the Valar, pulled the curved dagger from Gilakpis' belt as fast a lightening.  
  
What unfolded next happened so quickly that, looking back on it, it all seemed like a blur to Merry. He knew that he saw everything but whether it was his traumatized state or the fact that Elves really could move like the wind, he did not know. All he knew was that, no matter the cause, it had worked and for the he was thankful.  
  
Pulling the dagger out as swiftly as he could, Legolas did not wait for Gilakpis to give a reaction. Instead, holding it tightly in both hands, he raised it above his head and sent it slamming down into the soft spot between the Orcs unprotected shoulder blades, pulling a shrill, horror filled scream from the beast. Acting as quickly as his tired body would allow, Legolas moved to the side of the beast to avoid one of the steel tipped elbow guards, both of which supported large spikes, and grabbed Pippin by the shoulder.  
  
Near ripping the hobbit from the enraged Orc's grasp, Legolas half threw Pippin behind him, the hobbit hitting the ground with force that surprise him due to Legolas' weak state.  
  
By now, the Orc that was holding Merry let the hobbit go, forgetting about the little being and charged towards the now standing and armed Elf. Merry scrambled to his feet and over to Pippin, trying to avoid the trampling feet of the Orc as it ran.  
  
Gilakpis' eyes flashed in unconcealed anger as he looked upon the Elf. But before he could so much as draw the large sword that hung from his side, Legolas quickly stepped right up against his body and ran the blade straight across the Orc's thick throat as hard as he could, splitting skin and spilling forth more of the creatures' black blood.  
  
With one last screech, Gilakpis collapsed to the ground, clutching at his throat in horror. Legolas was left standing there, the curved dagger still in his raised hand as he watched the sticky substance that was the Orc's life trickle down his arm and drip on to the dirt beneath his feet. A pool black as night began to spread from the dead Orc's throat and back, slowly coming to elope Legolas' light boots and stain the soles in its foul colour. Still Legolas just stood there, looking at the blood covered blade that was grasped so tightly in his hands that his knuckles had turned ghost white with hollow eyes, not even trying to step out of the way from the river of blood or stop it from traveling further down his arm.  
  
The entire camp had turned to watch as their new leader perished at the hands of the Elf that they were in possession of by the use of his own dagger. It seemed to Merry and Pippin that they were in shock for all had just stood still, not moving an muscle, even the one that had been so eager to help only a second ago. They looked like grotesque statues displaying a gruesome scene for all to look upon and remember.  
  
It had all happened so fast, so unexpected and it seemed to have effected everyone, even the uncaring Orcs'. Merry and Pippin were sobbing quietly and between fussing over each other, they continued to cast worried looks at Legolas who seemed transfixed by the blood that stained his arms. The Orcs' seemed to be slightly uncertain of the Elf now, not knowing what to do with it or what should happen next. None wanted to openly approach the Elf that seemed immobile for the weapon that he still held within his hand, and it was with slight amusement that Merry relised that they were now frightened of Legolas.  
  
On his part, Legolas was stunned and yet confused as to why. It was not as if it were his first kill, and it was only an Orc's life that he had taken, but at the same time he could feel some foreign emotion slowly escalating its way up inside of him. Words from his childhood played out in his mind, telling him that it was wrong to murder, to take life unnecessarily and yet it had not been murder at all. Indeed a life had been lost, but it was in defense of his friends and to provide them with safety.  
  
Or was it? Maybe, on some level that had only been an excuse that he had given himself for his actions, that really, it was not for the hobbits' at all. Maybe it was revenge that had made him struggle to his feet and towards the Orc. Revenge that made him pull the deadly blade from its sheath and push it through the Orc's flesh, draining its life with each drop of blood that spilt from his own hand's actions.  
  
Words of Wisdom from the elders on the evils of extracting revenge raced through his all ready spinning head, only aided in making him all the more dizzy and yet none of the sayings were complete. He saw Aragorn's face in his mind's eye, looking at him in disgust, Gimli turning away from him and the little hobbits' that he cared so much for fleeting from his touch.  
  
Moving his left hand up to his head, he pressed the palm hard against his temple, trying to block out everything that was swirling through his mind like the dancing people of his race around a bonfire on the night of the great hunt for the white deer.  
  
So caught up in his own world of horror filled images was he, that he did not notice his peril until it was too late. Not hearing Merry and Pippin's shouts of his name, Legolas still stood there, unaware of Ashbukra, the newly claimed leader once again, coming up behind him with his sword raised.  
  
A heavy footfall was all that alerted Legolas to his appending doom, and, turning just in time to see the hilt of the Orc's sword come down at his head, he fell unconscious to the ground, the blade that he had previously held tossed into the bushes that were at the base of the tree that the hobbit's had been near all morning.  
  
*****  
  
Tbc.  
  
Ok, here is a little timeline that I am working on for this story to make it easier to follow. Now, keeping in mind that I fucked up in the very first chapters, I have had to move everything forward a day or at least a few hours. so, for the purpose of this AU forget everything about the timeline in the back of The Return of the King.  
  
Timeline for Shadows Within; Darkness Without - Chapters' five to six.  
  
Year 3019 of the Third Age of Middle-Earth  
  
February.  
  
26 - early morning (dark). Boromir killed instead of Aragorn, Merry and Pippin taken by the Orcs, Frodo and Sam off to Mordor alone, Legolas wounded then later separated from Gimli and taken by the Orcs.  
  
26 - morning. (Still dark) Aragorn finds Gimli in the woods and sees to his wounds.  
  
26 - afternoon. Legolas whipped, Merry covers him and is also hurt. Aragorn and Gimli burn Boromir and set off in search of the missing Fellowship members.  
  
26 - night. Aragorn and Gimli forced to rest. Legolas beaten by the Orcs and shares his dream of the fire with Aragorn.  
  
27 - early/mid morning. Aragorn reaches the West Cliff. Legolas had a fretful night and Ashbukra overruled by Gilakpis and his supporters. Administration of the Orc drought and death of Gilakpis (wow, he lasted long!)  
  
Ok, I hope that has helped to clear everything up! Not that anyone complained about it, but truth be told, I was getting confused!  
  
Umm, ok, now onto the thing that I mentioned at the top of the chapter (about the horrible thing that I am going to do to Legolas). Now, I know that I promised it this chapter, but I got sidetracked. You see, Gilakpis was not meant to be killed (let alone created) so that kinda put an entire four or five page chunk into the story that I was not accounting for. I was going to keep going and include what I was going to, but, as I kept writing, I was only just setting the scene for the 'incident' at the very end of page 16 and there needed to be about (knowing me and detail) two pages for the thing itself and another two to three for the after shock that had to happen. Now, if my math serves me correctly, that is about a 20 to 21 page chapter, which is pushing it, just a little! So, for that reason alone, you will all have to wait till next chapter to see what I have install.  
  
But look on the bright side, that means that, since I already have half of it written, it will be finished sooner and Legolas will be in the custody of the Orcs for an extra chapter (ok, so maybe the last isn't all that 'bright'). Plus, I have something *else* rally nasty to do to him the chapter after the next one!  
  
Ok, well hope you all liked it, and please tell me what you think - good or bad.  
  
Minka Rain Greenleaf with Elladan and Elrohir filling on for a vacating Legolas, (don't worry Lady V, he will be back by next chapter, I promise, I need him for it anyway! *evil grin*) 


	7. Invisible Threads are the Strongest Ties

*Legolas points and laughs until a glass is throw at his head* Minka: it is not funny! Elrohir: *laughing* you look like- Minka: shut up. Elladan: you look like- Minka: SHUT UP!!! Legolas: *hiding behind Elrohir and pushing Aragorn out as a sacrifice* Brittney Spears! Minka: SHUT UP!!!!!!!!!! *all four muses burst into laughter.* Elrohir: hehe, she looks like a girl for once! Minka: stop it! *pulls out her sword and waves it insanely until she backs the muses into closet and locks it.* Ok, I think I should explain. I went to the hairdressers and she screwed up my hair, I have these white-blond streaks (in my normally blond hair) and I used to have these little front bits that came down to pat my chin. Well, she fucked them up and they are now bleached and come to just below my eyes and with the style of mr hair - well, it is all bad and I leave it up to your imagination! *laughter can be hear in the closet*  
  
Ok, here is chapter seven (didn't take me too long, huh?) Umm, no big notes as I am pressed for time (I decided that I needed a break from all that is the world and have booked myself a flight to Sydney to do some serious shopping (no, I am not as crazy and rich as I sound) for the next couple of days - I leave tomorrow at 7:15. Wish me lots of money spending!)  
  
Ok, so that brings me to the next bit of business, due to the rushed completion of this chapter, I have not gone over it as well as I normally do. I had the choice of posting it up now as it is or waiting about a week or more before posting, and I thought you would all like it sooner. I am currently working on re-writing the first four chapters so I will just go back over this one as well and then put the fully edited version up - though hopefully there shouldn't be too many mistakes.  
  
Also, this is a little shorter (don't you like the way that my idea of short is about 10 pages when that is considered long for others?) then I planned, but, doing it this way I will have a longer next chapter which will (shock, horror) have a non-cliffhanger and half happy ending! *people all pass out* but it is far from over so do not worry, I have decided to make this go the length of the War of the Ring just with the while Minka twist.  
  
Next question; does anyone want me to include what Frodo and Sam are doing in Mordor? I mean, it would be different and such (remember, in this version Frodo did not leave the Fellowship by choice) so if you do, let me know in a review.  
  
Again, to do the right thing: WARNING: not so much graphic violence but just VERY DISTURBING situations as well as a freaky dream sequence. Also, there is a scene that, as it starts, looks like it will turn into something really bad so I would just like to take this opportunity to tell you all that it is not what it seems - this is not slash and will have NO non-con or anything of the sort. The scene just started that way as I didn't know how else to start it.  
  
Some responses to reviews are at the bottom of the post.  
  
*****  
  
Shadows Within; Darkness Without.  
  
Chapter Seven  
  
Invisible Threads are the Strongest Ties.  
  
*****  
  
"There comes an hour of sadness,  
  
At the setting of the sun,  
  
Not for sins committed,  
  
But for the things I haven't done."  
  
*****  
  
The day had been long and hard for both Aragorn and Gimli. Their earlier mirth was lost in a sea of misery, despair and shattered hope. Upon noon they had come across the first vital signs of their friends and it did not look good at all.  
  
They had been running for many hours, Gimli again refusing to rest and claiming that they had lost too much time already, when Aragorn' keen eyes and sense of smell had picked up on something that was not an ordinary feature of the land.  
  
Calling Gimli to a stop, they both surveyed the clues the land presented to them and, now a hour later, that was where they still were, looking upon the ground with heightened fears and the hints of tears brewing at their eyes.  
  
For there, for all to see among the filth and trampled ground left by the Orcs', was a pool of now dried blood. Red blood - Elven blood. It had that tinge to it that made it, even in its ghastly way, beautiful as it almost glittered under the sun, even in its dry state. There was no mistake whose blood it was and that weighed heavily upon both Aragorn and Gimli's hearts.  
  
Knowing that it was at the most a day old did little to lift their spirits. A day could be like an eternity as an Orc's prisoner, especially for Elves. The entire situation was frightening and Aragorn felt the now familiar sense of uselessness and failure wash over him, almost consuming him in his own self grief.  
  
It reminded him of Elladan and Elrohir's anguish at the loss of their mother due to the Orc's treatment of her when she was once captured. Granted that she did not perish from it, it was emotionally scaring enough to force her to leave her husband, home and beloved twin sons' and daughter to flee over the sea. Aragorn had never met her, but by the way that the twin sons' of Elrond had spoken of her and the love that Arwen so openly displayed, proved that she must have been a wonderful person.  
  
And now here it was, happening to Legolas, someone that he knew and that he cared about and he was forced to trail behind, picking up the small and horrifying clues as to what was happening to him a day too late. He could understand the blind fury and hate that both Elladan and his younger brother shared for the fell Orcs' and the thing that drove them on to kill all that they saw.  
  
Aragorn knew what that thing was now, that thing was revenge and that was what he would have upon these Orcs'.  
  
*****  
  
Merry felt as if his little legs were about to fall from his body in their exhaustion. They had been running since early morning and at a cracking pace that was far beyond that that he was used to. With little to no substantial food or drink, it was even harder to keep a level and unwavering head then it was to keep with the harsh pace that they were forced into by the Orcs' whips.  
  
Poor Legolas, Merry thought as he looked over to his friend who was attempting to run next to him. Never had Merry witnessed such cruelty; it was as if he had been awoken from the blissful daydream world that he used to live in and forced to see the truth of things that happened and that were out of his control. And yet, at the same time, never had he seen such a display of fearlessness in such a terrifying situation. It was remarkable how Legolas was still able to run with them, after all that the Elven prince had been through. Even the fact that still, when any Orc looked upon the archer, Legolas met their stare with an even glance, not allowing them to bully him into showing his fear - only his hatred.  
  
That morning had been a bad one, for both little hobbits and especially for Legolas. Ashbukra, who was now parading around as the reclaimed leader, had carried Legolas for most of the journey and even when the Elf had woken, he continued to haul him like he was a carcass. It was only when Ashbukra had tired that he released the Elf to run on his own, which, in Merry's opinion was worse then being carried, even if the Orcs' did stink.  
  
It was now close to nightfall and still things were getting worse; they were now near just near the great forest of Fangorn that both Merry and Pippin had been told housed great evil. Legolas had not spoken all day, not even in the few resting stops that they had received when both Merry and Pippin had tried to lift his spirits at least a little. All he did was stare out onto the plains, eyes hollow and yet dashing from horizon to horizon as if in search of something.  
  
In fact, Legolas was desperately seeking out something, something that the wind had whispered about and warned him of. A thing that would prove all deciding in how the future was to play out; for him, the hobbit's and all of Middle-Earth.  
  
For some time now, Legolas had been steadily aware of another presence on the plains. All the while he had been hoping that it would be Aragorn and Gimli, for he had been informed by the two hobbits' that Boromir had perished. But now he was certain that it was not the remaining fellowship members that made their way across the land. There were too many of them, the people that were coming, and they were all on horses. The ground told him of the great troop that were making their way over the great flat land, careful not to get to close to the Orcs' and yet at the same time they seemed to be tracking the band.  
  
At first Legolas was confused by this new turn of events, but then, after a lot of thought, he started to think that he knew what was going on. They were in Rohan, that much he knew for sure, and were steadily making their way to what he assumed was Isengard yet cutting close to the edge of the forest for shelter. Thus, the only possible explanation was the fact that the people of Rohan had been alerted of the presence of the Orcs' and had come to turn them around or slaughter them - whatever side of this war they were on.  
  
Since he had worked this out, Legolas had been plotting and planing, running ideas over in his head to try and get a grasp on how he could actually use this to his advantage. It was obvious that the Orcs' had no clue as to the company that were, at one point trailing behind them, but now steadily making their way ahead just out of the line of sight of the Elven archer. The fact that Legolas did not know if they were friend or foe was an unfavorable one, but one that, while being important, was not at the same time. The way he saw it, it was either death and torment in the hands of an Orc or the same fate at the hands of someone else. Besides, he was going nowhere.  
  
"Listen up," he said, shocked at the harshness of his own voice. It had been so long since he had spoken that both hobbits' almost jumped out of their skins in surprise and shock.  
  
"Legolas!" Pippin exclaimed excitedly, a large smile creeping upon his face. A smile that Legolas was all too happy to put a stop to.  
  
"Silence!" he snapped, and yet he automatically regretting it when Pippin's face fell. Tightening his jaw, Legolas mentally slapped himself. He had to stay to this plan, he could not afford to let the two that he cared for crumble his resolve. Besides, it was best this way, for all three of them. "Now, say not a thing but listen and listen well," he informed them, again deliberately putting as much hostility into his voice as possible. For once he almost thanked the foul Orcish draught that had burnt his throat as it gave him a more commanding and menacing tone then he ever could have managed by himself.  
  
Merry and Pippin looked at him as if he were an Orc himself. Never had they seen him so uncaring or acrimonious in all the time that they had known him and it frightened them a little. Both knew that Legolas had suffered a lot, both physically and mentally, especially the latter that morning, but never had they dreamed that it would make him like this. However, no matter how different he seemed at this time, they knew and trusted him with their lives, and for that reason alone, Pippin bit back the hurt and nodded his head in silent agreement that he would listen and not speak.  
  
"Good," Legolas replied while stealing a quick, fugitive look about the camp. None of the Orcs' were paying them any attention, which was rather odd considering the happenings of that morning, but Legolas just figured that he now looked as he felt; barely able to stand. "Now, listen," he continued, 'there is a band of riders just over the horizon - they have been there all day and have been tracking the Orcs'." He paused as an Orc walked by to get something out of a large pack that was thrown carelessly over to the side of the makeshift camp and Legolas only continued when he was well out of the way. "They are not far from here, towards the North- West, and will soon be past us."  
  
"What are you saying, Legolas?" Merry asked in a low tone, but at the look that Legolas shot him he knew that he should have kept his mouth shut.  
  
"Hush!" the Elf hissed, making sure to mask his emotions well. "Do not speak! Now, what I am saying is that we are going to make a run for it." Knowing Pippin's reaction before it even happened, Legolas leaned over with his bound hands and placed one over the hobbit's mouth before he could shriek out a 'what?' With a pointed glance, Pippin controlled himself and Legolas removed his hands placing them back in his lap.  
  
"I said that we will make a run for it," the Elf continued using his most princely manner and answering the unspoken question. "Now, this is how it is going to work; I will cause a distraction while you two run for the forest,' again Pippin was about to protest, but Merry covered his mouth with his own bound hands.  
  
"What about you?" Merry asked, not caring about the angry look that Legolas sent his way. He would not leave the Elf here, even if he were acting weird.  
  
"I will be right behind you once I have given you two enough time," Legolas informed them as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I want no questions, only responses. When I say to go, you will go and you will not look back! Do you both understand?" Both merely nodded, knowing that Legolas did not want them to talk.  
  
"Good," Legolas sighed, most of his malice now gone and he once again seemed to be the kind Elf that they all looked up to.  
  
Smiling down at the horror struck faces of the hobbits, he moved over and in turn stroked a small cheek with on of his hands, trying to reassure them the best he could. He had no clue as to whether they would make the dash alive, but he also knew that to be locked in Orthanc and be the prisoners' of Saruman would be worse for them so it was the only amiable option.  
  
"All will be well, I promise," he told them, "Gar na le Estel, nin millon. Ælis onha am a ælis eridh ain ai Elenath tirpai le. Syd, ir maes ir Im uva n ai an gwend an hae athon i Elenath." [Hold to your hope, my friends'. Never give it up and never forget that the stars watch over you. They, as well as I, will be there for you. Hold that in remembrance as friendship is far beyond the stars.] Repeating the words the Aragorn had once said to him, Legolas was able to force himself to smile despite the physical and mental pain that it caused.  
  
Merry watched Legolas with interest as he sat there, talking to them softly in his own tongue and stroking their faces. It was an odd transformation from the harsh being that he had just been back to the kind one that they had come to trust and love and it was that that weighed on his heart. What was wrong with Legolas and why was he acting like this was the last time that he would see them?  
  
Suddenly it hit him, Legolas was not expecting to come out of this alive, he was prepared to give up his own life to save the hobbits and had no intention of following them. It was a scary thing to learn and Merry did not wish to let it happen, but then, just as everything as of late, things were out of his control and without so much as a warning, Legolas put his plan into action. Looking back on it, it was as if Legolas had sensed that Merry knew what he was about to do and for that reason had decided to hurry things up a bit.  
  
"Get ready," was all Legolas said as he tensed in his crouched position. Knowing that he had only one chance, just as he had had only one chance that morning, he waited perfectly still, watching everything that went on in the camp and waiting for the right moment.  
  
When most Orcs' were busy in conversation or some form of chore, he knew it was time. Placing his hands to his broken ribs to help take off some of the force of his movement, he struggled to his feet as best as he could and started to inch away from the hobbits'.  
  
When he was a good couple of meters and still unnoticed, he sent a glance at Merry and Pippin, warning them to be ready. He saw the way they tensed, ready to jump up and run when he gave the order, but he also saw the look of horror on their faces and what he could only make out as understanding on Merry's. Ignoring it as much as possible, Legolas prepared to make his scene.  
  
"Aye!" he cried out at the top of his lungs, drawing the attention of all the Orcs' as he pointed off into the distance. "Tithen gaer arphen ithron telio ain nan ambenn, le ninbin-Yrch!" he screamed at the confused Orcs'. Like he had hoped, all turned to see where he was so fretfully pointing to, and once they did that he shot a razor sharp glance at the two hobbits'. 'Go' he mouthed, and, to his utter relief, both little ones got to their tired feet and ran in the opposite direction to where the Orcs' where looking, straight to the safety of the forest and hopefully the kind riders.  
  
Turning his attention back on his own situation, Legolas missed the worried look that Merry shot over his shoulder as Pippin half dragged him out of the camp while whispering to himself that everything would be all right.  
  
Legolas knew that his chances of surviving this were slim to none, but it had been the right thing to do to get the hobbits out of this place. He only wished that he had not had to be so harsh to them in the last moments together, but it was important for them as, hopefully, they would remember that last mood and would not feel so guilty.  
  
However, doubt still played upon his mind, taunting him with words of revenge and murder, of uselessness and his own personal failure to keep in control of himself that morning. No matter how much he tried to push the voices out, they stayed, as if secured on with the ever thick, strong spider-webs' that wound their way through the trees of his beloved home. Fighting them long enough to turn his attention to the task as hand, Legolas tried to concentrate on what the Orcs' were doing and tried to anticipate their next move.  
  
By now some of the Orcs' were turning back to him and he was aware that now the real test began. Now he had to keep the Orcs' attention on him and that direction for as long as possible, while staying alive to be able to do it, in order to buy the two cousins' time to get out of sight.  
  
As the first lot of Orcs' started to approach him, Legolas once again focused his eyes of the far away distance and pointed. "Tiri! Tiri!" he shouted while waving his bound arms painfully in the air towards the general direction. But this time it had no effect and the Orcs' that were already approaching him kept on coming. Panicking for the first time since he had thought of this little idea, Legolas stumbled to his left, moving further in the direction opposite the one in which Merry and Pippin had fled.  
  
Keep them busy, keep them busy, he told himself. His bound hands made the situation harder as well as his aching body that he continued to force it into doing things that he should not even be attempting. His ribs were burning in his chest, making him feel as if someone had set him alight and he was withering in flame. His arrow wound, that was once again starting to make itself known over the pain of his other injuries, felt as if something was boring right through him. Which, with a little sad inward smile, Legolas reminded himself that it probably was; working its way through his body with the movement and flow of blood.  
  
Ashbukra was now moving towards him as well and Legolas was not too happy about that. While all the other Orcs' seemed to have become slightly afraid of him since that morning, Ashbukra was as level headed as always, never forgetting who had the real power in this situation.  
  
Stepping back, Legolas lost his footing on a large stone that lay on the ground and fell backwards. The impact did little to aid his wounds as he felt a sharp prang in his right rib cage and realized that his intake of air was rather short and labored. Ashbukra pushed another Orc out of the way and came up to Legolas, glaring at him with glowing yellow eyes.  
  
Legolas could see in the creature's eyes that he was furious and it was with much panic that the Elf found that he was trapped. The Orcs' were circling him in and with the fall that he had just taken he found that he no longer had the strength to move let along get up and fight. The only thing that he could half take joy in was the fact that with his current position, none of the Orcs' had noticed the missing hobbits as they were too busy with his act.  
  
It was the worst moments of his life thus far. Lying on the ground and holding his rib as he tried to get his breathing to return to normal and not pain him every time he took a gulp of air, while waiting in apprehension for what was to happen and knowing that he was powerless to stop whatever Amarth would deal out.  
  
Praying for a salvation that would never come, it was with a heavy heart that a startled yet angered cry rose through the camp, causing Ashbukra to turn away from the Elf that he was stalking towards. The word had got out - the hobbits were missing and now it was time for Legolas to face the consequences.  
  
After a few moments, Ashbukra came back, the hot anger burning in his eyes as the very surface of the sun. He was beyond angry, beyond enraged and with a sinking heart that made his breathing even further hindered, Legolas knew that that hate and anger was directed towards him.  
  
Looking into the fuming eyes of the Orc that stood directly above him, Legolas could not help the small smile that came across his face. A number of Orcs' were grabbing weapons and heading out of the camp in all directions, obviously to search for the small hobbits, but at least the hobbits had a good head start. Sighing inwardly, Legolas tried the best he could to make peace within himself for he knew that this would be easier to bear if he could retreat to his own world of dreams.  
  
Yet, to his distress, every time he closed his eyes he saw his hands, arms and a twisted blade, dripping with black blood that slowly transformed itself into that of red. The blood of a human or an Elf staining his hands, spilt through vengeance without cause or justification. And as the now red pool soaked into his boots and covered his toes Legolas knew that he would find no peace within himself just as he would find none without. It was over.  
  
*****  
  
Merry and Pippin ran faster than they ever thought possible, all the while making a b-line for the shadowy darkness of Fangorn. Hearts racing and minds blank from fear, it was all they could do to stay on their feet and stick true to their course to the trees.  
  
Despite the warnings that Legolas had bestowed upon them, both franticly and frequently looked over their shoulders, praying to see a streak of golden hair carried on the wind behind them. While Pippin kept his hope alive, always expecting to see their friend running up to them every time he turned, Merry knew better.  
  
Sadly, he knew.  
  
Merry had known when looking into Legolas' eyes that the Elf knew of what would befall him once the hobbits were free. Legolas had known of his fate and yet he had walked right up and embraced it in hopes of saving the two small hobbits and that was something that Merry found hard to believe. He had always known Legolas to be self-sacrificing, but not to such an extent that he would so calmly condemn himself just so Pippin and himself would escape.  
  
Looking ahead he could see the large trees of the forest only a matter of minutes run from them, and yet, with each step, they seemed to be getting further and further away. Every time one hairy foot touched the ground, all Merry's mind screamed was Legolas, Legolas, Legolas. He could not help but feel that they should go back, that they were fellowship members and that they should stick together. None should be given over to death so that others may live unless it was to protect the ring bearer. They were formed to protect each other, to stay true to each other and to hold together so that Middle-Earth may be saved. What's more, they were friends. Fellowship be damned, rules be damned, but they were friends, and as far as Merry knew, leaving a friend in danger was the worst treason and betray that could possibly be committed. And yet here they were, two hobbits running away and leaving an Elf, fellowship member and friend at the hands of the cruel Orcs'.  
  
It was not right.  
  
So caught up in his thoughts was he that he did not notice that he and Pippin had safely made it into the line of trees and were fast heading towards the deep of the ancient forest. It was not until Pippin cast himself upon the ground and proclaimed that he could run no further that Merry really noticed just where they were.  
  
Sighing and throwing himself upon the mossy ground, Merry placed his head in his hands and rubbed his temples gently. The battling of his conscious was really starting to give him a headache, and yet, in a way he did not wish to make it stop as it was the thing that told him that he was alive, that he was still a thing that breathed and moved and that he still had feelings. Moreover and most importantly it was the thing that told him that he was a coward for leaving his friend behind and that he deserved to feel such pain in his head for his choices and for abandoning his friend.  
  
"Where is Legolas?" Pippin's voice bounced off the trees even though it was spoken in a low tone.  
  
They were the very words that Merry did not want to hear. Where was Legolas? How could his cousin not see what had transpired back at the makeshift camp of the Orcs'?  
  
"Merry? When is Legolas coming?" Pippin asked with a slight hint of fear in his voice. Merry still had not taken his head out of his hands and as Pippin spoke, he was massaging his temples faster and harder, trying to block out the dark thoughts that formed there.  
  
"When's Legol-"  
  
"He is not coming!" Merry interjected harshly, his fear finally getting the better of him. "He is not coming, do you get that? He sacrificed himself for us and is probably dead by now!"  
  
As soon as the surly words had left his mouth, Merry regretted them. It was not Pippin's fault and he had no right to speak to his cousin in such a way. Still, he could not see how Pippin had not seen what would happen and what the major flaw was in Legolas' plan.  
  
Pippin had fallen silent, obviously thinking on what Merry had said and the horrible meaning that his words had held.  
  
"I am sorry, Pippin," Merry practically whispered yet he knew that his friend could hear him. "I'm sorry, I just-" sighing to himself and rubbing his sore eyes, Merry's words trailed off. He wondered what Pippin was thinking, whether he was as grieved about the situation as he was, or if he was in a way relieved that they were free. He wanted to look into his cousin's head and see what he felt, to be able to know exactly what troubled him so he could supply the right comfort.  
  
When Pippin finally spoke, it was not the words that Merry would have expected in a thousand years. "We must go back for him!" Pippin stated with the utmost confidence and resolve in his voice. "We must go back."  
  
Merry turned huge eyes on his friend and looked him up and down as if Pippin were insane. "Pippin," he tried to console his companion but Pippin would hear nothing of it.  
  
"Nay, we must go back. It is what he would have done for us." The determination in Pippin's eyes was almost enough to convince Merry that what he was saying would work.  
  
"I agree that he would do it for us," Merry said slowly, "but what are we to do? We are not warriors. If he can not get out then what chance do we stand to help him escape?" The turmoil within Merry's head was enough to make him feel as if he was going insane; one part of him told him that Pippin was right, and yet the other told him that such actions were folly. "In my heart I know what you speak of is right, yet in my head it seems to be absurdity."  
  
"Then what? You would leave him there then?" Pippin could not believe that Merry even doubted his suggestion. In his eyes, Merry had always been the brave one, the one that would give himself so someone else would not suffer and he had proved that within the last few days. And yet he was deceiving, as now he was hesitant to do what could possibly save their friend.  
  
"No, we do not leave him there," Merry replied, ignoring the harsh tone that lay with the words that Pippin had muttered. "But rushing back like fools is not the answer. Legolas did this to get us free and the last thing that he would want is for us to come back on our own accord and make all that he worked for and suffered a waste of time."  
  
"What are you suggesting?"  
  
"I say, we tarry here no longer and indeed we do head back, but not to the Orcs'. We search for Aragorn who will, without a doubt, be looking for us at this very moment. Or we see whom these riders are that Legolas spoke of, see if they will help us for surely they would not want the wrath of Mirkwood brought down upon them if it got out that they did not help their prince." Merry looked over at his cousin for the first time since sitting down and saw the glimmers of hope shining in his eyes. "Aye, we must do something, but going back there is not the answer - we must seek out help from elsewhere."  
  
Moments passed in silence as both pondered on what such an act would involve and if it was the right thing to do. If it were to succeed, they would have to do so in haste, as both knew that Legolas would not be faring well with the Orcs', and then there was the question of where was Aragorn? If he were too far away then it would have all been in vain and Legolas would not have any hope of salvation. Besides, what of the riders? Were they friend or foe, warriors or travelers? There were too many things being left up to chance but no other options to choose. All they could do was head back in the direction that they had come, avoid the Orcs' and hope to find someone who would help them and Legolas.  
  
Looking once again to Pippin, Merry saw him nod his head and start to stand. So it was decided, they would go and try and help Legolas the bast way they could, even if it was indirectly. With that in mind, they turned their heads to the South and, with one last look at the safety of the forest, they made there way back through the trees to the plain tat stretched out in front of them.  
  
*****  
  
Legolas squeezed his eyes shut as yet another whip fell upon his back, leaving a line of searing pain in its wake. The pain was unbearable and as a lash licked across the open wound left by the arrow, he cried out, casting his stubborn pride into the mid-afternoon wind.  
  
The Orcs' seemed to be greatly satisfied by the strangled wail that passed through their captive's lips and much to Legolas' grief, they seemed to be encouraged by it. Another well-aimed stroke fell upon an open and welting cut that was only recently made and again Legolas could not restrain the moan of agony that formed in his throat. A burst of laughter from the beasts that loomed over him told him that they had heard and that yet again they enjoyed the pitiful sounds that he was making in his pain.  
  
This abuse had been going on for sometime now, ever since the Orcs' had discovered that the hobbits' were missing, and Legolas had completely lost track of the time that had passed since then. It had started with a few vicious kicks to his stomach with special concentration on his already broken ribs. After that, much to the Orcs' delight and Legolas' displeasure, the Elf found himself in too much pain to even move. Even if the small hobbits lives had been threatened at that very moment he still would not have been able to get up.  
  
He was lying on his stomach with his right arm under his chest cradling his broken rib or possibly ribs. He had his face pressed into the grass on his own accord as he had long given up trying to catch glimpses of the blue sky or trees through the legs of the standing Orcs'. He felt defeated and broken, a shadow of what he once was and once stood for as he lay there at their mercy.  
  
Now the Orcs' turned to their cruel whips to further torment the pained Elf, and Legolas found himself powerless to even stop the majority of the blows. It was a terrible feeling, the weakness and the uselessness, but he still found comfort in the fact that the little ones' would now be safe in the confines of Fangorn forest. Even as whips turned to clubs, to feet and then back to whips he knew that he had done the right thing, that he had saved the lives of two beings that did not deserve to be treated as they were.  
  
The disconcerting thing was the fact that, through all this abuse of his body, he still could not find the peace that he sort in his world of dreams. Still, after all that he had now been through, he saw the blood spreading out about his feet, slowly making its way to him.  
  
He knew that he was in trouble with his own dreams turning against him. It was unlike anything that he had ever heard of in his entire life. Elves had the power to control their dreams at all times - that was why they could retreat to them when in turmoil or in need of rest whist still being technically awake. The plain of dreams was a place that all Elves were blessed with so that they would always be safe and so that they could escape whatever pains their body went through.  
  
And yet he could not even go there. He was trapped within his abused body with nowhere to go and no way to hide from the pain.  
  
A sudden extra amount of weight was added to him and he quickly relised that Ashbukra was kneeling upon his thighs. Panic flared up inside of him as he felt the Orcs hands run up his lacerated back, digging its nails into his cuts and wounds as he went. A soft growl emerged in the throat of the beast that pinned him to the ground as he let his claws tear down the reddened skin of the Elf normally pale back.  
  
Legolas' heart beat faster then it had in his life as he felt the Orc moving its clawed hands up and down his back. The weight on his back and legs shifted and Ashbukra leaned forward for what, to Legolas, was still an unknown purpose.  
  
A harsh sucking at his shoulder told him why the weight had been changed so and he could not help but screw his face up in disgust.  
  
Ashbukra had seen the wound from the arrow that was lodged within the skin of the Elf and the slow seeping of the blood enticed and mesmerized him. Leaning forward, he placed his cracked lips to the wound and sucked up the blood, relishing in the feel of the warm liquid sliding down his throat. It was unlike anything that he had ever tasted before; the Elf's blood was almost sweet as he continued to suck it from the wound, not satisfied with what had seeped out onto the skin.  
  
Legolas squirmed the best he could underneath the heavy beast that straddled him yet with every movement a new pain shot through his body, whether it be from his ribs, his torn back or the weight that drove his lower back into the ground.  
  
His stomach lurched, threatening to spill whatever little substance that remained there as Legolas felt the Orc's wet tongue poke into his wound in an attempt to get more of the life-blood of the Elf. He could faintly hear the cheering of the other Orcs' as they watched their leader tasting the Elf with envy. The tongue probed further into the wound until Legolas could feel the arrow shaft being pushed further into his shoulder. It was such a repulsive feeling, feeling the course, wet tongue of the Orc inside his shoulder and running over the concealed flesh.  
  
Hopelessness spread through Legolas as he felt the sucking at his shoulder intense. There was nothing that he could do to stop this feral act that he was being submitted to and he fought hard to stop the beginning of tears from leaking from the corners of his eyes.  
  
He would not cry. He could not cry.  
  
He had cried only once in his life at the loss of his mother when the grief overtook him, yet, even then he made sure that no one knew of it. Even though he always suspected that Aragorn knew as the ranger had become very protective of him at that stage in his life and had repeatedly told him that it was all right to cry out his fears and hurts.  
  
However, now was different, now it was deadly to give into such reactions and he would have to work hard to keep his own personal disgust at the display to himself.  
  
Just as he resolved he would not break that easily, the sucking stopped yet the weight of the beast was still there. Holding his breath, Legolas squeezed his eyes even further closed and begged of the Valar to let it all be over with and to release him from his pain and terror.  
  
Listening to even the slightest of sounds, Legolas could have sworn that he heard a blade being pulled free of its sheath. Tensing up when he felt Ashbukra shift upon him again, Legolas waited in silent apprehension of what was to come. He hated not being able to see what was going on as it made the fear worse and his head unclear from all the emotions that he was trying to sort out.  
  
Something scrapped against the back of his neck and he soon felt his hair being swept aside to fall over his left shoulder. Panting softly into the grass, Legolas frantically searched for a way to get free or to at least be able to work out what was happening.  
  
His head was pushed to the left, following the movement of his hair and his first rational thought was that the Orc was about to slit his throat and that at least it would be over. He then relised that the Orcs' had no desire to let his life end just yet, especially after how he had tricked them and robbed them of two valuable captives.  
  
The cold touch of fashioned metal brushed past his shoulder wound, enticing a shudder out of the Elf, again, much to the Orcs' delight. For a few moments the blade stay still, pressed lightly against the arrow torn flesh. It then was moved down his back, making sure to slit a constant line all the way down and through his other welts and cuts. Legolas could feel the blood seeping from the new injury and it gradually making its way though the torn cloth of his tunic to trickle down his sides and onto the ground.  
  
As the blade moved back up his back in the same cut, making it deeper, Legolas worked hard on keeping his breathing even and not moving from the pain else he make it worse.  
  
The tip of the dagger was removed from the cut and slid up to the very base of his throat, drawing a line in the Elf's own blood to mark the daggers path. There it stayed, allowing the drips of Elven blood to land on the pale neck of Legolas and slide down each side, one to meet with the ground the other with his blond hair.  
  
What happened next came as a shock to the Elf and it was executed with such speed and accuracy that he had no time in which to prepare.  
  
Ashbukra suddenly reached down and grasped the Elf's chin, angling his head up and his chin to the right. His fingers crept up the side of Legolas' cheek until they came to rest on the top of his head, slightly to the right side. The feel of the blade had completely disappeared from Legolas' skin and yet he still felt the tingle of where it had just been resting. Then, in a movement fast for an Orc, Ashbukra grabbed the tip of Legolas' right ear and pulled it up, stretching it. With the blade in his right hand, he then quickly placed it in front of the tip and pulled back with all his might, severing the pointed tip.  
  
A startled, pain filled cry came from the Elf under him as Legolas felt the blade slice through the cartilage of his ear. Almost immediately he felt the splash of his blood on his face as the point of his ear came right away while the laughing of the Orcs' rung in his ears.  
  
A mouth closed in upon the bleeding tip of Legolas' ear and he felt as if he were about to be sick as Ashbukra once again went about sucking at his flowing blood. The Orc sucked hard, forcing more blood to pass through the wound and Legolas could feel the sharp teeth of the creature grazing against his throbbing ear.  
  
The pain was intense and took his mind off all the other hurts in his body; even his ribs and back. As the sucking continued, the Orc wrapped his claw in his hair and pulled Legolas' head back allowing the fell beast better access. Hairs tore and ripped out into the claw like hand as Legolas struggled to be free of the creature's mouth and grip.  
  
Ashbukra growled as the Elf tried to squirm out from underneath him, and with a quick decision, he brought the hilt of the dagger down on the crown of the Elf's head. Legolas' eyes fluttered closed and he lost himself in a world of blood and orange mist while Ashbukra continued to suck on the Elven prince's bleeding ear with the other Orcs' laughing in the background.  
  
*****  
  
The afternoon sun beat down with no mercy as Aragorn and Gimli continued their hike across the land of Rohan.  
  
Taking a drink from his bottle, Aragorn tipped a small amount over his head ere placing the cork back in the neck of the flask. His head was pounding with an unknown pain - one that he had never felt before. It was unlike any headache that he had ever experienced due to the sun and yet he did not know what else could have caused it. Slinging his water skin back over his shoulder, he turned to where Gimli was doing the same.  
  
Giving the dwarf a small smile the ranger once again turned his back to his friend and set off in the direction that they had been traveling ever since their friends were taken.  
  
Minutes passed by and, it seemed to Aragorn, that with each step the pain in his head intensified. It was a constant dull throbbing that hammered against his ears, eyes and temples and no matter how hard he tried he could not ignore it.  
  
Taking another weary step, Aragorn felt the world rush past him and the ground tip. Closing his eyes to try and stop the spinning, he could faintly hear Gimli yell out his name just as he felt himself come in contact with what his mind could only register as the ground.  
  
*****  
  
He stood there, shrouded in flame lit mist, the oranges and reds of the thick air swirling around his blond head. It was thick, so unbelievably thick that even he could not see through the haze to the things beyond.  
  
All around him he heard horses, horses' hooves thundering upon the ground as if they were the cause of the great claps of noise in storms. The vaporous mist that covered the land as a blanket would a child magnified the noises making it so loud that it almost hurt his ears. It pounded in his head, at his temples and his heart pulsated in time with the quick beat of shooed feet.  
  
Feeling the earth shake and move beneath him, he looked down to see a sea of green grass that stood out completely and looked out of place in such a dark land. A glimmer of movement caught his eye and he turned his head to the right to gain a better view.  
  
There, moving over the land as would a snake when approaching its prey, was a pool of black blood. It oozed its way towards him, covering the grass of light green with its sickening colour and tinting the soil.  
  
The pool moved steadily forward, never getting thinner or less from its spreading, only growing as if it were a living thing. Soft pops and sucking sounds reached his ears as the substance came ever closer.  
  
Taking a step back, he found that he was pressed against an invisible barrier that prevented his retreat. Turning around in pure panic, he found that he was fenced in and unable to move in any direction. He was stuck, trapped and caged like an animal that was used to its freedom.  
  
And still the substance moved ever closer.  
  
Pounding with his fists upon the wall of mist, he started to feel the sickening feeling of fear form in his stomach and he could taste the acidic bile as it traveled up his throat.  
  
And still the substance moved ever closer.  
  
As the first river of blood touched the toe of his boot, he could see that the black receded and left the same substance behind it, only red. Preparing for the strange squishy feeling that would soon come betwixt his toes, he closed his eyes in silent prayer that it would leave him be.  
  
When the feeling that he was anticipating did not come, he opened his eyes slightly and looked down, thanking the Valar in the process. Yet any words of thinks were swiftly forgotten as he saw with terror in his heart that the substance had not in fact seeped though his boots but was snaking its way up his legs in long tentacle like shapes.  
  
Attempting to stamp his feet in hopes of ridding his legs of the foul substance, he found that his cage of mist had shrunk further still and would not let him even move his arms. It was as if the mist itself had twined around his limbs to hold him still and render him immobile.  
  
Watching in morbid fascination, the blond watched as the blood moved higher up, slowly covering the entire surface of his legs and yet still moving as ripples on a wind tossed lake. Soon his waist was submerged in the growing liquid and he could feel the warmth of it upon his fingertips. Once it reached his palms, he found himself moving his hands up to his face against his wishes.  
  
The blood moved faster now that it had accesses to his hands and before long it was all the way up to his shoulders. Without willing himself to do so, he raised his hands to his face and placed one on each cheek. Moving his hands in small circles he spread the blood across his cheeks, moving to his forehead and chin respectively. He could feel the blood twirling its way up his hair and coating his neck, moving down his chest and across his pain laced back. It pushed its way though his lips to slither across his tongue and down into his throat while it also went up his nose, making itself the only sent that he could pick up.  
  
It was everywhere. It was everything. It was him and it was all that he knew.  
  
And still the substance moved ever closer.  
  
Still the substance grew and it covered all that lay in its path.  
  
He could feel it grow heavy upon his brow and he closed his eyes just before the liquid sealed over his sockets, completely cocooning him in the still moving blood that gleamed red in the fire lit mist.  
  
And still the substance moved ever closer . . .  
  
*****  
  
"It doesn't matter what it costs, it's worth paying the price. You can't live cheap and you can't live for nothing. So pay the price and be proud you've paid it." "Ellie" from "Darkness be my friend," by John Marsden.  
  
*****  
  
Tbc.  
  
Timeline for Chapter Seven.  
  
27 - afternoon. The day passes uneventfully for Legolas, Pippin and Merry as they continue across the plains of Rohan. Aragorn and Gimli find the blood from the whipping that Legolas received the afternoon before.  
  
27 - near dusk. Legolas senses riders overtake the Orcs and causes a distraction so the hobbits can escape. Merry and Pippin run to Fangorn only to turn back the way they came to try and find Aragorn. Legolas punished for his actions - loss of ear tip. Aragorn passes out and again witnesses Legolas' dream.  
  
(wow, that was long! Lol) *****  
  
*Ducks many sharp implements that come flying at her head*  
  
Sorry! But I could not refuse! I mean, I know that it probably goes against all the unwritten laws of Elf torture (you may torture but not permanently scar the Elf) but I HAD too! There was no avoiding it and if you are still pissed off, blame it on Ashbukra as he is evil and I hate him too. I mean, that whole sucking the blood thing was just gross and yet it just came to me when writing that section. Anyway, now is probable not he best time to tell you all, but I have an even nastier thing to do to him (which sadly I stole out of my history textbook) and it is even worse, but, after that I think I will give him a break else he die on me.  
  
Oh, and the thing that Legolas said to distract the Orcs' is not translated as if I told you, you could not take it seriously. I needed a slight comic relief at that point and so I wrote that (thank the Valar that the Orcs' can't understand him! Lol) but, if you REALLY want to know, let me know in a review and I will post it up next chapter.  
  
Shout outs.  
  
I would like to thank everyone who has ever reviewed this story!  
  
Ecco: thankyou for the complements. I try my hardest to keep them in character, especially with dialogue as there is nothing that I hate more then reading something that abuses English and the style of Tolkien's characters. I mean, it is hard to take a story seriously when the characters are forever talking slang throwing in a 'man' and 'dude' here and there.  
  
Lady V: I am glad you liked the title of the chapter - I knew you would! Lol, and you should know that I always leave things like that! Also, I am sorry that Merry and Pippin are no longer there to help Legolas, but I have difficulty writing for them, so I wanted them gone as soon as possible.  
  
I was asked in an e-mail why I always write in Merry's POV when I see things from the hobbits eyes, and, well, truth be told I am not sure. I mean, my favourite hobbit is by far Pippin but I feel that his character is above my writing as it is too complex in a simple way (make sense?) I mean, anyone can throw Legolas into a story and make him at least *half* in character, and well, Aragorn's character was murdered long ago (as you can see, I can't do him either) but Pippin, he is so innocent and seemingly young but he had this whole deeper and side inter-working within himself that he himself does not seem aware of. And that is something that I am not experienced enough to do yet.  
  
But anyway, I will be keeping them in it as, truth be told again, I was going to send them into the woods and never have them com back until I needed them then explain what happened to them (kinda like the Paths of the Dead) but I decided that this story is equally theirs so I gave them that scene in this chapter and so they will be making very frequent come ins like Aragorn and Gimli.  
  
Noname: thankyou for your encouragement on the last chapter (though I still and not happy with it, lol) and the nasty thing has happened, do you still want it?  
  
Rosie: update soon!!!!!!!!! And thankyou.  
  
Rozoth: wow, your review made my head grow about another five centimetres in diameter! Lol, and I am glad that you are loving the Legolas torturing fanfics! But sadly, there are not enough of them out there (that's where I come in handy! Lol) The battle scenes (as I have already mentioned) take me hours and are every tiring - both mentally and physically (can't tell you how many times I was hit in the head for a story that I will be posting up soon) As for the talented writer thing, I try my best. I like to play, that's all, but thankyou anyway - I am please to know that you seem to be enjoying it that much.  
  
Littlegreenleaf: Yes, I am cruel! And what I meant by the fucking up the first couple of chapters is the fact that, in the book, the battle of Sarn Gebir was set through the day and through a slip of the old brain (had better things to do at the time, I think) I set it through the night. I then had to choose if it was to be the night before or the night after it was *meant* to be set as either way puts out all the sate in the back of the book. I chose it to be before, so that means that my story is running about 12 hours before the actual story thus I had to sit there and work it all out with a new time as I wanted to keep it as close to the book as possible.  
  
Invaderzoester and gypsy: is this fast enough for you both?  
  
Karina: Yay, another who liked the title! Umm, I know what happened to Legolas was terrible, but I make you this promise, he will be alright (maybe don't read the next chapter as it gets much worse!) but in the end everything will be fine! I also like to see him stand up for himself and the ones that he cares about, as, to stick true to the character, it is something that he would do. I hate seeing stories where he bursts into tears at the drop of a hat and Aragorn is always there to comfort him (there is one really popular author on this site who does that all the time and I hate them - I think I am like one of the only people who *hates* this person). Elrohir says hi and thankyou for saying that you will read it and he wants me to say that he eagerly awaits your opinion so I can writer more on him (narcissistic Elf!)  
  
As for the dream-sharing thing, as you can see, it happened again and will happen all the way through this story. The reason for writing this story was really for me to play around in the Elven world and the inner physic of their beliefs. Now, for this I must take into consideration that not much is know about such things apart form what is mentioned in the Silmarillion which is really more of a bible of Elven history then what they would go through in such a situation. So, to do this to the extent that I am planing of doing, I have incorporated a lot of Pagan (yes, I am a Pagan, I grew up in a house of Pagans' and I jump at the chance to slot some of my knowledge into my stories as I feel that a lot of people as miss guided about what we are really about. Most see The Craft and think that it is all floating and glamour and do not see it as the ancient worship of the Goddess and the Mother Earth - which is very close to Elven ways with their love for the land and the harmony that can so easily be disturbed - hence the little quotes at the beginning of this story) customs and rites. Now, this will be built upon in later chapters (as in about four chapters away) when our beloved Elven prince is *somewhere* and talking to *someone* and it will be then that the mystery of the shared dreams will be unveiled.  
  
Lady of Lorien: thanks, I often miss a lot of things like that.  
  
Elebereth, Queen of the St: I am glad you liked it thus far, and, just to let you know, I failed my way out of chem! Lol.  
  
Vana: I must say, I was rather confused by your review, did you like it or not? Anyway, I pity you if you have a mind like my own as it is quite scary! I would not call what Legolas is dong as stupid, it is just that he values others over himself unlike most Elves. Tolkien once said that Legolas was had a lot more human like feelings of courage and self- sacrifice than most Elves should have, and that that was why he was so different from his father. You wrote a death fic? I do them all the time. (  
  
As for the coughing up blood thing, I felt like it. I mean, no matter how strong you are you could not take that sort of abuse and not cough up a little of something. And yes, I do know what it is like to cough up blood, I have been doing it for the past couple of weeks as well as supporting a broken rib so I was kinda infusing a bit of my own pain into my story and the characters. He will also be out of there soon, I promise.  
  
Now, the Aragorn sorroful thing, I must agree with. I hate stories were Legolas is covered in blood and half dead and Aragorn is all pitting and go "Oh Legolas, what has befallen you? I grieve at your injuries for they seem great." (to quote you). now, I also promise you this, when Aragorn finds Legolas, it is going to be far from "what has befallen you?" but also far from ""HOLY SHIT LEGOLAS, THE MOTHER @#&^&S ARE GONNA PAY FOR THIS. AAAARRRRRGH!!!" as I can not really see Aragorn using such indecent language and random signs look horrible in stories, lol. To put it bluntly, yu would feel sorry for any of the Orcs that were found by Aragorn! (oh, hey, I have to careful what I say as that gives a way a fair bit of what is coming up *smacks her evil, possess fingers*) also, Legolas will not be healing quickly AT ALL!!!!! It is going to take him ages (all you people don't know what is coming up!) which will add another twist to the War of the Ring.  
  
I am glad that you read the disclaimer last chapter and I hope you see this before you move. (am posting on the 29th) my other question for you is, do you live in Australia? You said in your review for the Elrohir story that you wanted to do archery but Australia lacked culture or something. Just thought I'd tell you that I live in Australia and I still did archery, but yes, we do have a rather crappy lack of culture.  
  
Ok, that is finally it. I only did that as everyone had god points and there were not too many like chapter five (there was like 25 for that and that would just take me too long to reply to! Lol)  
  
Anyway, please review! You all know that I live for them! Tell me what you think, good or bad as it helps me to write faster as I know what to do and what to change.  
  
Bye bye for now, and I shall see you all when I return from my shopping trip,  
  
Minka. 


	8. Of Darkness and Light

I am finally done! A whole 19 pages of story!!!! you like 'em long, you got long so never say I don't do anything for ya!

Dedication: to the Darkness and Shadow group – you all know who you are. May the darkness forever live I your hearts and may you never go without the pain of others!

Very special thanks to: Lady V for the wonderful help that you gave me! It would have taken me another three weeks to update if it were not for you. As you can see, I used most of your suggestion, added a bit, changed a bit, but, all in all, it was you that did it for me. Thank you! and I know that I said I would have it up last night, but I kinda fell asleep, which is a heaven sent for me, so you, Carpe Diem! Lol.

Pearlrosses: for your threats of stealing my muses' and other abusive e-mails! Lol. I hope this was worth the wait.

Everyone who has reviewed or e-mailed me with their opinions, suggestions or just to say hi! I never would have gotten though all this if it was not for the encouragement that you all give me and the boosting of my ego! lol 

***

Ok, I have decided that this story will be in three parts, working on the main settings. We are still in the first part, the second will be in about two chapters time and will be a bit shorter, and the third (obviously) will be after that and shorter still. Though I should tell you that. 

Umm, this chapter is VITAL to the story. Don't want to say too much, but I introduce *counts on her fingers* four, (but five if you included that other one) new characters into this story, that will all, at some point in time, play a major role in this little tale.

Also, for the sake of doing the right thing, this chapter carries a **_STRONG WARNING!!!!!!_** - if you thought that the bloodsucking thing last chapter was bad, than look out. It is very graphic and rather disturbing plus quite violent. But, I can safely say that, while things are going to get a hell of a lot worse before they get better, they will be getting better very soon. (Lady V, don't kill me!)

Ok, so read and I hope you enjoy and are not too angry with me in the end. I will also rave a bit more down the end.

*****

Shadows Within; Darkness Without

By: Minka

Part One: 

Path into Darkness

Chapter Eight:

Of Darkness and Light.

*****

"Then wise Penelope spoke to Odysseus again, saying

'Stranger, there are certainly dreams that are useless,

Senseless stories that hold nothing for men.

There are two gates for our intangible dreams:

The doors of one gate are wrought of horn,

And the other are of ivory.

The dreams which pass through the gate of carved ivory,

These dreams are deceptive, since they portend nothing real.

But the dreams that pass out through the polished horn,

Those dreams hold true deeds to be accomplished,

Should a man be able to perceive them.'"

Homer's ideas of the meaning and conception of dreams, published in the Odyssey, Book XIX, lines 559-567

*****

"Aragorn!" Gimli raced to his friend, calling out his name in desperation. One minute Aragorn had been fine, the next he had crumpled forward and fell to the ground.

Reaching where Aragorn still lay perfectly still, Gimli turned his friend over gently so his face was no longer buried in the dirt. Aragorn's eyes were closed and fluttering slightly as if he were entranced within a dream and his breathing was slightly labored, yet other then that it looked as if the ranger had merely fallen asleep on his feet.

"Aragorn?" Gimli questioned whilst shaking his friend's shoulders, trying to rouse him. It was such an odd occurrence and the entire situation had left Gimli with an undeniable sense of forbidding; it was not a natural situation and seemed to reek with the smell of evil. 

Pulling out his own water bottle, Gimli uncorked the neck and poured a generous amount over Aragorns' face in an attempt to wake him yet the action was in vain – Aragorn showed no signs of waking anytime soon or by any means that were not his own. It was as if he had given up hope and let himself fall into a deep sleep that he could control at will. 

Sighing and crossing his legs, Gimli settled himself next to his unconscious friend. The sun continued to burn in the sky and there was nothing that Gimli would not do to be in the cool confides of a cave, surrounded by the cold rocks with little rivulets of water dripping down their rough surfaces. He longed to see the ways the fire light played upon the cracks of the stone and made the precious jewels glisten from the walls of the many passage ways that snaked their way through the mountains of his home.

Pulling his helm from his head, as it was growing unbearable hot, Gimli set it to his side and took a long drink of water. Glancing back at Aragorn, who showed no signs of improvement, Gimli pulled out his sharpening stone and started to run it rhythmically along the blade of his axe. 

Willing his apprehension to flee with each stroke, Gimli tried to calm himself and get used to the terrifying fact that they were now forced to stop in their search. 

Precious minutes ticked past and still Aragorn showed no sign of waking or even movement; it was as if he was dead. Panicking slightly at the thought, Gimli reached over and pressed two fingers to Aragorn throat, and only when he felt a pulse did he turn back to his axe. 

They would have to stay there until Aragorn recovered from whatever ailed him, and in that time, the dwarf would just have to hope that his Elven friend and the two small hobbits' would be all right. 

*****

Heavy. It was so heavy and seemed to be growing in its weight as it tugged at the chain about his neck. Frodo sighed in exhaustion as he and Sam continued their way down Emyn Muil towards the east and the Dead Marshes. 

From the very beginning of their journey, Frodo knew that it would be hard and dangerous, but now, with each and every step that he took leading him and his friend closer to Mordor, it became worse. The Ring was always whispering in his mind, calling to him to take it for his own. But he would not, he could not – he would not let everyone that had sacrificed so much down, as he could not keep the Ring at bay.

It was harder now, without Aragorn and the others. They had all been so strong and supporting that it was only because of them that he pressed himself to keep going. 

Aragorn had been an excellent protector, always making sure that he and the others were safe and all right. He was so strong and knew what had to be done, but he was also unapproachable. From the very first time that they had met, Frodo had felt slightly intimidated by Strider. He was not afraid of him, at least he was not once he grew to know him, but he still felt that, on some level, he, Sam, Merry and Pippin were a hindrance to Aragorn and that he did not want them there. 

Boromir he had never trusted. The day of the council when he and Legolas had engaged in their first of many fights, Frodo wished upon wish that the man would not be a member of the fellowship. The hobbit could see something in Boromir's eyes, something that he knew if he looked in a mirror now he would see in his own. That thing was the Ring, its small band turning in the pupil of the eye as the voice called out to the holder to keep it and use it for their own reasons. It was for these reasons that he did not want the man to accompany them, but now, now it did not matter if the man was part of the fellowship or not as it was just him and Sam now. 

The delegate that he had felt most at ease with was Legolas. The Elven member had been easier to talk to than any of the others, as he seemed to have an air of innocence about him despite his age. He had also been one that would help the small hobbits anytime that they needed it and he seemed to be able to tell when they needed reassuring of some sort. Even if the Elf had an on going fray with Boromir and Gimli, he seemed the most approachable of all and the nicest of the fellowship. 

It was with these thoughts that Frodo found the courage and the strength to continue on with his quest. With Sam by his side, talking merrily of better days and the Shire, the entire situation became slightly easier to bear. 

But the Ring still called, and still, it grew heavier. 

*****

A slight gasp stirred Gimli from his half-dosing as Aragorn started to come around. The ranger had sat up and was now holding his head, a look of confusion in his eyes. 

Even with his eyes open and cast upon the spotted grass green ground, Aragorn could still see the blood changing from black to red, moving in and concealing his friend while all the while he stood, pressed against an invisible barrier that blocked his path. He had called and shouted to Legolas time and time again in the dream and yet the Elf was deaf to his cries and did not even respond in the slightest. 

He had no clue as to whose dream it was, whether it was what he feared had happened to Legolas or if it was what Legolas feared, but he knew that somehow, he had been there, watching his friend and being so close that he could see him, but not close enough to reach. That pulled at his mind, whispering to him of his own failure. He should have been able to get to his close friend, he should have been able to break though the barrier and save Legolas from what they both feared, and yet he could not. He was forced to stand idly by and watch as Legolas panicked within his own boundaries of reality. 

"Aragorn?" Aragorn jumped at the sound of his name having forgotten all about Gimli's presence. "Are you well?" Gimli persisted after Aragorn had nodded his head in recognition. 

Shaking the last of the haunting images that had followed him from sleep out of his head, Aragorn just smiled at his companion. He did not wish to trouble Gimli with such strange things as it seemed folly even to him that he had somehow gained access to Legolas' world of dreams. 

"I am well," he lied, trying to make his own head believe what he had just uttered.

A humph was all his answer as Gimli reached into his pack and handed over the ration of waybread that he had kept for Aragorn once he woke. "Here," he said while handing it over to the grateful human, "eat this and lie no longer. I know something is wrong and that not all is well for 'tis not everyday that a ranger would collapse from the heat. Now be out with it."

Aragorn gave his friend another smile, torn between being pleased at his observations and being angered at his bold intrusion. Yet he had to tell him for the matter concerned him just as much as it did Aragorn for Legolas and Gimli had formed a somewhat strange friendship. Taking a bite of the food that the Elves of Lothlórien had supplied them with, Aragorn pondered on the best way to tell Gimli what he had seen in his dreams.

*****

Legolas woke, gasping for breath as the feeling of the blood blocking his senses lingered from his dream. Panic rose in his stomach as he could detect the tangy taste of blood on his lips and for a split second he thought that his nightmare was coming true, that he really was being drowned in his own blood. 

Slowly his heartbeat returned to normal – or at least the fast beating that he now took for normal since being with the Orcs' – and the last remains of his dream disappeared into the fogy mist that seemed to cloud his mind. 

Taking a quick moment to calm himself down completely, he looked out over the camp, making sure that none of the Orcs' had been alerted to his wakefulness due to his panic attack. 

It had been the worst dream that he had experienced in his entire life, the only other nightmares being after his mother had died, and he could still feel the warm, slimy touch of the blood as it slipped over his skin, making its way up to his face. Yet the strange thing was that, throughout the entire dream, he could have sworn that there was another presence, standing just behind him on the other side of the barrier that denied him an escape from the approaching blood. It had felt familiar, as if he had known the person that seemed to be standing by and watching as he was consumed, and his first rational thought was that it was Aragorn. Though now, in the relative safety and clarity of mind that came to him in the real plain, he knew that it was impossible, for Aragorn was no Elf, he had no access to the world in which Legolas traversed in his sleep. Besides, why would Aragorn have just stood there, not even attempting to help him? Unless Legolas' worst fear was true, that Aragorn looked down upon him for the revenge that he had extracted from that Orc and the lust for the kill that still pumped through his veins. 

Pushing all thoughts of Aragorn, dreams and blood away, Legolas took to studying the camp further. It was now night, sometime after the moon and reached its zenith in the starry sky and, if anything, closer to dawn. Already the air held a heavy, sticky feeling to it that Legolas had grown used to identifying with the early morning dew that fell upon the ground and the people that walked upon it, yet the night was still black and held no signs of the rising sun that he so longed for.

The Orcs' sat huddled around a large fire, soaking in the warmth that the flames offered to them. Even though Legolas could not feel the cold or heat, he longed to be next to his own fire, inhaling the sent of burning wood and listening to the soft crackling of the logs as the flames swiftly lapped up, sucking the moisture out of them. 

The Orcs' seemed restless, uneasy, as if something that even they feared was approaching and the entire situation only put Legolas more on edge. Anything that was able to frighten the Orcs' was not bound to be good. The riders had long since disappeared from the plain and Legolas was now sure that they were probably some servants of Isengard, thus explaining why they did nothing to stop the Orcs' path. The Elf only hoped that the hobbits' were not so unlucky as to have met the riders after now knowing who they probably were. 

A sudden chill came into the air, one so cold and unnatural that even Legolas could feel. The night turned quiet, even the crackling of the flames were soundless as the Elf strained to listen to what was whispered upon the wind. Something drew nigh; something that had disturbed all that dwelt in the night and sent all the small, plain animals into hiding. The air seemed to crackle with energy as a fierce wind blew up, sending dried grass and dust into the air alike. A loud crack like that of a burst of lightening sounded in the otherwise quiet night and a single white flash upon the outskirts of the camp also suggested a storm, though Legolas knew better. 

Peering into the gloom, he could just make out the Orc' doing the same. The Elf kept his eyes trained on that one single spot past the ring of light cast by the fire, and, as time slowly wore on, a figure could just be made out, coming slowly towards them.

As the stranger came into the light of the Orcs' cooking fire, Legolas could now make out the features of the man' garb. The figure was stooped low, leaning upon a staff, a full length grey cloak rustled and floated in the wind that still blew across the prairie and a large, wide-brimmed hat sat upon the person's head.

Legolas' heart skipped a beat as he saw the man walking slowly to the camp and thoughts of Mithrandir formed within his mind. Was it possible that the old wizard had somehow survived his fall in Moria? 

As the man came closer, Legolas' hope rekindled and he almost shouted out for the man the only thing stopping him from doing so, the white that he saw flicker under the folds of the cloak.

It was as if all his nightmares had come true, it was Saruman, he knew that much, and here he was, tied and beaten, helpless upon the ground whilst the evil wizard was in his bow's reach. 

The man walked into the full light of the fire and any doubts to his identity were quickly forgotten. A long white beard could be seen hanging over the front of the grey cloak and a good few inches of white robe could be seen under it. 

The figure went straight to Ashbukra, again showing that it was not Gandalf, and started to converse with the beasts in the Black Speech. After sometime and a few raised words from Saruman, the wizard turned his eyes on Legolas, and once again his heart skipped a beat. The eyes were dark and evil, full of hate and vengeance and lacking all light just as his smile was wicked and cruel. 

The wizard straightened himself up and walked towards Legolas, the evil sliver of a smile widening as he took in the Elf's appearance. Deciding that he did not like being upon the ground at such a time, Legolas struggled to his knees, also raising his head in a sign of a strength that he did not feel. 

The wizard came to a stop just in front of Legolas, "if it isn't the young prince of Mirkwood – if indeed there is an Elf under all that grime!" Saruman exclaimed while looking down on the now kneeling Elf. At his words, Legolas' eyes widened in surprise at his knowledge and at the same time they flared at the insult, "you think I would not know the ones that dare stand to oppose me? Yes, I know everything about you and your little idealistic friends," the man concluded with a smile and a slightly inappropriate chuckle.

The laugh chilled Legolas to the bones and as he shuddered, he began to tug and struggle vigorously with the rope binding his wrists. The struggles seemed to light a spark in the hollow eyes of the wizard, and the smile broadened. Ignoring the harsh bite of the cords upon his scared wrists and newly made wounds, Legolas continued to struggle while never taking his eyes off the wizard before him.

"It is with great interest," the wizard bit out, "that I hear you played a major role in the loss of my other two captives." He paused, as if waiting for a reply from the Elf before him, and when none came, he continued. "I do not think you realise how important they were to me!"

A smile of his own swept across Legolas' dirtied features as he vowed not to let the wizard get the better of him. "I think I have a rough idea of their importance," he said in a low, dangerous tone.

A nervous murmur travelled through the Orcs' that stood watching the confrontation between their sport and their master and Saruman's face turned a dark and malevolent shade of red. At this reaction, Legolas straightened himself even further, ignoring the pain that swept through his body and cried for him to crumple back to the ground. 

"Do not play with fire, Elf, especially when you know you can not possibly win!" Saruman snarled out between his teeth. "'Tis humorous to think that such a pitiful creature like that which you have become can still think themselves strong. That one so obviously put in their place as yourself could be so disillusioned and foolish."

"Nay, it is not me that is foolish or disillusioned, Saruman," Legolas shot back against his better judgement, "that is you in thinking that you can betray Gandalf and the people of Middle-Earth and still seek to stand against the power of Sauron. You are the disillusioned one here, not I."

Saruman's eyes blazed in his anger, and Legolas could have sworn that he saw fire flick through the pupil of the dark orbs. "You will pay for your insolence, little prince." His voice cut through the tension on the air like a blade would tender skin and Legolas inwardly flinched, not allowing himself to show such emotions on the outside.

Looking up at the appealingly old man, Legolas felt as if something was forcing its way into his mind, searching for something. With a clarity that surprised him, he realised what it was, and pushed all thoughts of Frodo, the ring and Mordor out of his mind and away from Saruman's inquisitive search. 

"Tell me," the wizard inquired, "why is it that you Elves are so hard to break? You know you can not win this and yet you continue to aggravate me and hide what I seek," the last word was spat out, defining his point as Legolas felt the probing within his mind continue. 

You can not win this. You can not win this.

Legolas repeated the words over and over in his head, making them the only thing that the wizard gained access to. He had known that he had spoken out of heedless pride and not wisdom and as he continued to repeat the wizard's sentence, he started to wonder if it was in fact true.

Frustrated, Saruman gave a savage cry and Legolas felt the presence leave his head and, for a split second, he thought it had gone, but a sudden pain in his chest revealed that not to be true.

The pain felt as if it were caused by a hundred daggers, all poking into him at once, and he lost his balance, falling to the ground gasping for air. He knew enough of the dark arts of the world to tell him what was happening; Saruman was trying to force the light out of him, drag him into the darkness that the wizard and his minions lived. 

Closing his eyes, he fought what was possibly the most important fight of his life: the fight for his soul. Battling against the invasion and the pollution of his soul, he closed his mind and his heart he best he could, trying to force Saruman's evil presence from his body and back into the night. 

"Elves, so hard to break yet so easy to destroy their light and turn them to darkness," the man said, the Orcs' behind him erupting into laughter. 

It became harder and harder to keep the invading darkness out of his being and as another wave of what felt like pure evil swept through him, he screamed out in agony unwillingly. He could not let this happen, let Saruman take everything that he loved from him when he had already suffered and survived so much. 

Drawing on all his strength, he raised his head from the dirt and opened his eyes, locking them with Saruman's own. "No," he choked out, satisfied with the started look upon the wizards face. "No," he said louder and more confidently as he glared at the shocked wizard, "you will not have my light and you will not see me broken!"

Shocked at the Elf's resistance, Saruman lost his concentration, his power withdrawing from the Elf in the process. 

Letting his eyes close in peace, Legolas smiled to himself. He had done it, he had defeated the wizard's intentions. 

Saruman was in a rage, his eyes flickering with their hate and vengeance. How had such a battered and worthless excuse for an Elf been able to stop his wraith – it was unheard of. Focusing in on Legolas again, he tried to renter the Elf's soul in another attempt to squash the light from him yet he met a barrier. 

Legolas' smile broadened as he felt the wizard seek entrance to him again, only to be blocked. He had succeeded, and through his will and light, had managed to keep the now drained wizard from attempting to turn him again. 

Realising that he could no longer gain access to the Elf's light, Saruman snarled at the Elf that lay now at his feet. "You will pay," he said between breaths, "have no fear of that, little prince, for you will pay. No Elf, prince or no, defeats me, especially one that is no longer one in appearance or thoughts. You think I did not see what goes on inside you? Your doubts, your fears and your questions of what you really are. I saw them all! And I tell you now, Elf, they will be your demise."

Legolas lay there, barely hearing what the wizard had to say in his angered rambling's. To him all that mattered was that he had defeated him, he had won this battle and preparing for the next or the consequences was not his top priority. 

He was vaguely aware of the presence of Saruman leaving the position that he had taken above him, and he could hear the slight, startled murmurs of the Orcs' about him as Saruman walked up to Ashbukra.

"Make him regret it," the wizard said coldly ere walking slowly out of the camp to disappear in another flash of blinding white light. 

It took only a moment for the Orcs' to register what their master had commanded and Legolas could almost see their evil minds ticking over, thinking of ways to make him suffer more then he already had. 

One of them yelled something at Ashbukra who responded by sending a harsh slap into the face of the aforementioned Orc, sending him wheeling back. More cries sounded about the camp as Legolas looked on, wanting to run yet knowing that he would not be able to. 

When Ashbukra finally turned towards him, the look in his eyes made Legolas cringe, again wishing to be swallowed by the ground and taken away from such an evil place.

The lead Orc came closer and Legolas concentrated on making his face a mask of indifference, not allowing the panic that rose in him to reach the surface. Ashbukra held a small, black handled knife in his right hand, the hilt of it fashioned into a snaring face that closely resembled a warg as it was about to attack. Legolas had no clue as to what the blade was made for, as it certainly was not one designed for fighting as it was too flimsy and almost dainty looking. The Elf tried to think of anything but the Orc that strode confidently over to him, the thin, gleaming blade held in his hand.

Flashes of his life came to him, as if he were about to die as the human always put it. It was strange, he could see his home, his father and mother sitting upon the green slops of the palace gardens, his first visit to the water boarded lands of Rivendell and his meeting of little Estel. He saw the man grow up and the first hunting trip that they had gone on together, along with Elladan and Elrohir. The fellowship setting out, the beating that was bestowed upon Gimli for trying to help him and the little, hope filled faces of the hobbits that had also been captured. 

So much came to him in those few seconds, his eyes still open and staring blankly at the Orc, and yet he felt no emotion. Nothing as he saw the face of his mother that he had not looked upon for many years, nothing at the sight of the hobbits' and Gimli's defeat. It was all there and yet he felt as if he were a shell, a fragment of his former self that was incapable to feel anything but pain, self-doubt and loneliness. 

Before he could get himself back to the present and know what was happening, he felt rough hands grab him from behind and keep him pinned to the ground. He felt a hand press onto each of his shoulders, one right on his previous arrow wound, in an attempt to keep him flat to the ground and Legolas could not help but wonder what the Orcs were thinking.

Bucking against the restricting grip, the Elven prince squeezed his eyes closed against the pain of his shoulder as he tried desperately to get himself free. 

A clawed hand wrapping itself around the base of his right foot took him by surprise and his eyes flew open, staring straight into the yellow fire that was Ashbukra's. With a cruel smile, Ashbukra held the knife up in the air, right in front of Legolas' face, waving it from side to side as he taunted the Elf with the weapon. Flicking his tongue over his scaled lips, Ashbukra quickly turned Legolas' right ankle to the Orc's left and raised the blade over the part of the booted foot that was soft and tender, holding no bones. 

Sudden realization swept through the Elf as he looked on at the blade held high in the air and whilst every bone in his body told him to fight, he could not even bring himself to move as fear clenched tightly at his heart. 

Ashbukra leaned in towards Legolas's bruised face, nipping out his tongue to grab a small stream of blood that ran from a small cut on Legolas's cheek. The Elf jerked his head away as best he could, and Ashbukra drew back and slapped him hard, before walking around behind Legolas to where even the Elf's eyes couldn't see.

The blonde prince felt his ankle being taken back into Ashbukra's hands and the Orc started to taunt him, holding the knife so the cold steel was just barely touching his boot, while the other Orcs looked on and laughed. Legolas clenches his eyes shut in fear as the pressure of the knifepoint was taken away from his foot for only few seconds. 

It seemed like time had stopped as Legolas waited in apprehension, his eyes squeezed firmly closed. 

Then Ashbukra rammed the blade into the Elf's skin.

It slid in, a cold, hard and unwanted presence under his skin and it was with a slight laugh from the Orc that held it, that the blade turned in the wound, opening it up for Valar knows what purpose. Gasping in shock, Legolas once again tried to school his features into not allowing the beast to see just how much such an act really hurt him, though he could not stop the quiet sobs that hiccuped up his throat.

No longer could he hold in his cries of agony. He had been through so much, felt so much more pain then anyone every deserved, and all the while he had not cried out his anguish, yet no more. He could no longer fake his resilience to the pain that was forced upon him and before he knew it he was crying out, disturbing the night air with his tortured voice.

"ARAGORN!?" the name came easily to his lips having been on his mind from his past dream and yet he felt that it was something deeper, something more powerful that made him call out his friend's name. He cared not if any of the Orcs' recognized it as the name of the lost King of Gondor, only that it was his friend's name and title, and that it was he, if any, that would be able to sense his turmoil. 

As the pain increased, Legolas found himself almost chanting Aragorn's name into the air, feeling as if it lifted some of the pain in some sort of way. "Aragorn?" 

As he felt the Orc's hand move to grab his other foot, a strangled sob escaped his cracked lips. His right ankle felt as if it were on fire and yet at the same time he could feel strangely nothing, though he knew that it would hurt just as much for his left. 

It was, without a doubt, the most horrifying thing that the Orcs' had put him through in all his time with them, no matter how short it had been. Legolas had no real idea as to how much time he had been in the clutches of the Orcs' but he knew that it had not been even close to a week and yet he was broken already, a twisted form of his former self. 

Without any warning, the Elf felt the blade pressed to his foot and the weight of the Orc on top of him increase. In one swift movement, Ashbukra pierced his blade through the flesh of Legolas' ankle, mirroring what he had down to the right.

"Aragorn?" no longer being able to cry out as loud as he once had, Legolas settled with merely sobbing in defeat as the blade did its work. No matter how hard he tried, he could not block out the pain or the snickering of the Orcs' that stood all around him, laughing at his agony and surrender. 

As the blade was pulled from his foot, he felt it scrape against the bone of his ankle, making him arch up in agony and thrash against the beasts that held him. All his valiant attempt succeeded in doing was make the blade scrape further along the bone as it slide out slowly, the Orcs' laughing at the being, enjoying the torture that the Elf put himself through with his folly attempts of avoiding the blade.

Ashbukra reached behind his back, and, to Legolas' horror, he produced a short, think length of cord much like the ones that the Orcs' used to fashion their whips. Squirming against his captors, Legolas tried desperately to gain his freedom having predicted what was to be done with the rope.

Taking one end of the cord in his right hand, Ashbukra grabbed the Elf's right foot in his other claw. Rubbing the cord in the blood that trickled steadily down Legolas' boots, he made sure that the ends were taught and straight so he could easily thread it in through the wound. 

Ashbukra started to slide the rope through the hole in the Elf's foot, but suddenly withdrew and said something to his comrades in the Black Speech. Legolas shuddered at the laughter that followed, knowing that it could only mean more pain for him, and he was right in that assumption. 

Ashbukra, instead of putting the rope through his maimed foot, put his finger through instead. Legolas' back arched in his pain, and along with his sobs came whimpers and gasps. The clawed finger moved about in his foot, pushing against flesh and bone alike and all the while making Legolas' soft noises increase to louder, more audible ones. 

Ashbukra then pulled out his finger, moved into Legolas' range of vision and the Elf's eyes widened as he saw the Orc's index finger dripping with his own blood. The merciless Orc touched the finger to Legolas' lips ere grabbing the pale jaw, forcing Legolas' mouth open. Smiling down at the terrified Elf, Ashbukra forced his finger into the princes' mouth, wiping the blood off on Legolas' tongue. 

Gagging at the taste, Legolas tried desperately to rid his mouth of the substance and the finger, only to have more of his own life-blood forced down his throat. It was still warm as it slid down, coating his mouth with the foul taste and any attempts to bite the finger were cut short by the cutting hold of the Orc's other hand.

Once Ashbukra was finished, he removed his finger from the gagging Elf and returned it to the bleeding right ankle, pushing it in again to re-coat it. Bringing it back to Legolas' face, the Elf forced his lips closed, biting lightly at the inside of his lips, refusing entry. Only Ashbukra had other ideas, and dragging it across the Elf's face, covering parts of Legolas's features with the Elf's own blood, he went about licking it all from the pale skin, not caring that the Elf sobbed and struggled weakly.

When the Orc was done, leaving no drop left upon the smooth face, Ashbukra went back to Legolas' foot and picked up the rope once more, positioning it to move easily through the hole in the Elf's body he had just created. Lifting the foot, he slowly started to thread the coarse rope through.

Legolas cried out when the rope first entered him, feeling small bits of the metal woven rope break off and get lodged inside him. The Orc holding down the distressed creature laughed all the more at his struggles, while watching as their leader pulled the rope from the other side of the foot, having successfully threaded it through. As the rope went through the other ankle, the Orcs' amused themselves with how the Elf bucked in pain simultaneously to when the rope was put in or pulled out of one of his ankles.

Holding the two ends of the rope in his hands, Ashbukra inspected the job that he had done with a proud look upon his face. Looking up at the pain-ridden face of the Elf, an idea came to him and a sadistic smile crept upon his face. Keeping his eyes locked onto Legolas so he would see the pain and not just hear it, he began to pull the rope back and forth, through Legolas's skin whilst never letting one side get all the way out.

Legolas's sobs redoubled as he jerked madly against the hands that held him to the ground, wishing it to cease and be over. 

Once the rope was bright red with the Elf's blood, Ashbukra decided to finish what he had started. With one last snicker, he tied firm knots in the ends of the rope, allowing little to no movement of the Elf's feet and stood up. Barking out an order, he kicked Legolas with a heavy boot as he walked past. The Orcs' quickly scattered at his shout and even the one that had held the Elf in place left, leaving the miserable Legolas on his own as the Elf curled up in a ball, his eyes staring out into space. 

Not caring of the nightmares that he knew would come, he willed himself into sleep, hoping that, though suffering through his dreams, he would leave the pain that he felt far behind. Yet, he did not fall into the world of darkness that he had become so used to whilst closing his eyes without whispering one last time into the wind, "Aragorn?"

*****

Over the next hour Aragorn, as best as he could, filled Gimli in on the vision like images that he had seen after his collapse and answered any questions that the dwarf brought up with his limited knowledge.

"And so you believe that it is he trying to reach you?" Gimli asked, somewhat disbelieving. 

"No," Aragorn said strongly, "we have not been in contact of any sort, but it is as if I have intruded in on his dreams and he knows it not." Even to him, Aragorn thought he sounded like a wandering fool that was shunned out of village after village for his thoughts and words that consisted of nothing but lunacy.

"Well," Gimli finally concluded, "it is a far fetched idea at that, but not one that should be easily brushed aside nonetheless. So, until anything else may be found out about this theory of yours, I say we keep searching else the dreams prophesize doom by not returning."

Sighing, Aragorn nodded his head again in a sign of approval at Gimli's words. "Very well, we shall be on the move again," he said while looking out at the way that they were to go wistfully. He wanted to get to Legolas as soon as he possibly could but still felt strange, as if had had too much Elven mead. 

Seeing that Gimli had already stood, Aragorn grabbed his pack and slowly raised to his feet once again. 

"ARAGORN!?" 

Aragorn whirled around to face Gimli, his features showing his concern and confusion. "Gimli, what is it?" he demanded of the startled dwarf.

"What do you mean, Aragorn?" Gimli asked slowly as if the man were mad.

"You called my name, did you not?" by now Aragorn was seriously starting to doubt his own sanity. He knew that he had heard his name, but he could have sworn that it sounded like Legolas' voice that had called it. But that was impossible.

"I did no such thing," Gimli replied, still as if he were talking to someone who was emotionally unstable.

Frowning in confusion, Aragorn just smiled at his friend and shrugged his shoulders. "My mistake," he said quietly whilst grabbing his pack that he had dropped in his surprise. Yet he knew that he had heard it, he had heard someone call out his name – it had not been in his head.

Seeing that Aragorn was still in a daze, Gimli started out, taking the lead down the small hill that they had been camped upon. 

"Aragorn?" the voice shouted again so loud that it almost deafened Aragorn's ears. Spinning around again he looked behind him, searching for anyone that could possible be trying to get his attention yet there was nothing. Nothing behind or forward, nor to either side, and yet he would swear on his mothers grave that he had heard it.

"Aragorn?"

Gasping in shock, Aragorn dropped his pack once again. He knew that voice, his first suspicions were correct. "Legolas?" he whispered just loud enough to draw Gimli's attention to him. The dwarf stood there, watching his companion with a worried look plastered across his face as Aragorn just stood still, as if listening for something that he would normally miss.

"'Tis Legolas, he is in trouble – pain." Aragorn said, his voice still in a hushed tone. At this Gimli's eyes opened round, not even trying to hide his shock at what the human was telling him. How could Aragorn possible know what was happening to Legolas?

"Aragorn?" it was more of a sob now, one that was brought forth from a choked throat. Placing a hand to his head, Aragorn applied pressure to his temple, trying to block out the quiet sobs that he could hear as clear as day within his head. There was no mistaking it for anyone else but Legolas, even if Aragorn had never heard his friend in so much distress. He sounded terrified and riddled in agony and worst of all he sounded as if he had given up all hope.

"We have to get to him!" Aragorn exclaimed whilst picking up his pack for the third time. Motioning for Gimli to take the lead for the time being, he fell easily into line behind the dwarf. 

The lead was not a place that Gimli was comfortable with, but seeing Aragorn's condition he thought it best that he was leading, even if it was only for a small while. It was not until Gimli heard a small cry and Legolas' name whispered into the wind that he turned around, already expecting the sight that met his eyes. Once again, Aragorn was sprawled upon the ground, his eyes closed, only this time he looked as if he were in great distress. 

Walking quickly over to the man, Gimli tried once again to rose him, with no success, and so it was once more that he sat down next to his friend and sighed, cursing their bad luck and praying that the Elf and hobbits would be alright. 

*****

Aragorn walked forward in a daze. He could feel the world all around him and yet at the same time he felt as if he were in a place that did not exist. It was completely dark and yet he knew that, if anything were to come near him he would be able to see it. The ranger could hear sounds all around him and yet at the same time all was quite just as he could smell things that he knew were not there. The ground was not visible, but he knew that he tread upon a surface like that of granite.

"Aragorn?" upon hearing his name he spun around, looking over his shoulder to the way that he had come. Peering into the gloom, a figure started to emerge from the shadows and his eyes grew wide in both terror and joy.

Legolas made his way slowly forward, as if hindered by something to do with his feet or legs. 

Taking the first shaking step forward, Aragorn kept his eyes locked onto those of Legolas. As he saw the lightless orbs of his dear friend, Aragorn found the courage and strength to go forward. His unsure steps turning into the quick, light steps of his run as Aragorn covered the ground between them in haste. 

Reaching Legolas he stopped and looked up into the Elf's eyes again and was rewarded with a small, insecure smile. Stretching his hand out to touch the pale cheek of the prince, Aragorn was alarmed to find that Legolas flinched away slightly. Repeating his action, only this time slower, Aragorn lay the curled knuckles of his fingers upon the unusually cold cheek of his friend, and, while keeping eye contact, went to pull the Elf into a hug. 

In a movement that was slow for the Elf, Legolas pulled away and took a step back before he allowed Aragorn to get too close. Swallowing hard, the Elf searched for the words to say to his human friend. Coming up with nothing better he softly whispered, "it does me good to see you, my friend."

Creasing his brow with a frown, Aragorn slowly stepped forward again, only to have Legolas draw back once more. "Legolas?" the human asked gently and when Legolas made no effort to acknowledge his unspoken question that accompanied the said name, Aragorn continued. "What has happened to you?"

A small and almost hysterical smile appeared upon the Elf's pale, dirt covered face at this inquiry. "There is too much to tell here, Aragorn." He said in a stern tone that almost cloaked the hidden trace of laughter that was in his voice. 

Aragorn's frown grew even deeper as he saw no reason that Legolas should have held laughter in his heart at a time like this, and it was not until the human looked right into the now dark eyes of the prince that he realised. Legolas was not well, not just physically, but emotionally. He had suffered through far more then any normal Elf would or could ever have endured and yet he still had not cut his ties with the world; he still held hope in his heart – somewhere. 

"So be it," Aragorn told his friend, "yet when I find you, and I will, you will talk to me about this."

"If you find me," Legolas said solemnly, "I know not where I am myself – where is this place, Aragorn?"

Aragorn cast a quick glance around himself again, still seeing the same darkness as before. "I know not, I was hoping that you would have known the answer to that."

"I have no answers anymore."

"Do not give up hope, Legolas, I, and Gimli, will find you and we will get you free." Aragorn took another step to Legolas and was overjoyed when the Elf did not back away. Gently taking hold of the Elf's upper arms, Aragorn quickly checked Legolas' back for the wounds that his torn tunic showed were there, and yet, he found nothing. Looking straight into Legolas' eyes he asked his unspoken question.

"There are there but just not present in this place, wherever it is." Legolas answered his friend's gaze and by the look upon Aragorn's face, Legolas could tell that he had only further confused the human.

"Yet you still feel them?" the ranger questioned, the worry evident in his voice.

"As if they were to be seen, but fear not, you could not hurt them further for I do not believe that is entirely possible." Again Aragorn's eyes enlarged in fear for his friend and yet he pulled Legolas to him in a comforting embrace. "I saved them, Aragorn," Legolas whispered into Aragorn's chest, "I got the little ones' out of there, but they are on their own now and I fear for them. They are too innocent, Estel."

Aragorn gently stroked his friend's hair and placed his chin upon Legolas' head, "They will be all right and you must not worry for them, you saved them, you got them to safety and they will be able to look after themselves until we find them."

"But-"

"No!" Aragorn said in a stern yet gently tone, "you must worry about yourself now, not them. You have done all you could so it is now time to worry about getting yourself to safety. You must be ready when Gimli and I come to get you."

"And if you do not find me?"

"I will find you, my friend. I promise you that. I will find you."

*****

Éomer, son of Éomund, Third Marshal of Riddermark, waited patiently in the bushes near the edge of Fangorn forest with his eyes trailed upon the camp occupied by Orcs'. His men had ridden out of their hometown of Edoras two days ago against the orders of the king in search of these very Orcs' that they now watched. 

The sun was fast rising in the east and it was at this time that Éomer had told his men that they would attack. The Rohirrim were all, like himself, still upon their fast steeds yet hidden in the shadows of the forest, waiting for the first rays of sun to peek over the distant horizon. 

Rasing his clenched fist high above his head, Éomer made ready to command his men forward. Watching the slow creeping of the light across the land, Éomer let his fist fall in the signal to go, and, as one, the entire group of one hundred and five kicked their horse's sides and rode down in a mad frenzy towards the Orcs' camp. 

*****

The Elf suddenly tensed in his arms and started to pull away. Aragorn fought to hold on to his friend and to reassure him that it was all right, but Legolas would have nothing of it. 

"I must go," Legolas said in a panicked voice while his eyes darted about the darkened space fearfully. 

"What? No!" Aragorn exclaimed as the Elf finally broke away from him with a slight hiss of pain. "Legolas, where are you going?" Aragorn called as Legolas started to walk off quickly in the direction that he had come.

"Something is wrong – something is happening!" Legolas called back, the fear so clear in his voice that it made Aragorn shudder. 

"Come back!" Aragorn yelled as he quickly made his way after the Elf.

At Aragorn's request, Legolas slowly turned to face him, causing Aragorn to gasp in shock. Legolas' face was covered in blood and dirt while his eyes were sunken and blackened. His tunic was shredded and hung about his shoulders, like the scattered remains of a wispy cobweb, while being stained with his own blood. A large river of the red substance flowed down the side of his right face and Aragorn automatically panicked for the well being of his friend. The blood that ran from a wound in his shoulder had trickled all the way down his chest and breaches, and it was while following them that he saw the reason that Legolas' walking had been hindered. Through the back on the Elf's ankles, a rope had been threaded through and tied off, rendering the Elf unable to walk.

Horror was in Legolas' eyes as he looked down upon himself with Aragorn following his gaze, and as he lifted his eyes, Aragorn could see the hints of tears playing at the corners of his half-closed eyelids. Aragorn wanted to run to his friend and help him, to cut the ropes that bound both ankles and hands but, even as he took a step forward, Legolas began to fade in front of his eyes. 

"Legolas!" he yelled as the Elf grew dimmer and dimmer, as if he were but a mirage and was shimmering out of his sight and mind. "Legolas!"

Without so much as a word, Legolas was completely out of his sight, he had just vanished out of being and Aragorn was once again alone in the darkness that he was now once again aware of. 

Screaming in rage and frustration, Aragorn kicked out at some fragment of his imagination, pretending that it was one of the Orcs that had done such a thing to his friend. He craved to get his hands on them, to make them feel some of the pain that they had inflicted upon the Elf that he thought of as another brother. There was no doubt in his mind that what he saw was real, it had to be real. He had spoken with Legolas, somehow, and he had seen what the Elf had been through.

A strange sensation started in his feet, and Aragorn looked down to see himself dimming and slowly vanishing out of sight. For some reason he did not fear what was happening, and it was with the knowledge that Legolas was still alive and that he would have his and Legolas' revenge, that he willed the disappearing act to be over with quicker so he could continue his search. 

*****

A sudden cry forced Legolas' eyes open and his mind out of his disturbing dreams. The camp was abuzz with movement, chaotic, unorganized movement as Orcs' ran to and fro, shouting out to each other in their harsh tongue that Legolas had grown to hate and fear at the same time. 

Something was happening that the Orcs' had not expected, and Legolas felt a slight glimmer of hope rise up in his stomach. He knew from his last dream that it was not Aragorn as he was not near but he also remembered the riders that he had sensed the day before. Maybe, just maybe, they were not followers of Saruman. Perhaps the hobbits' had found them and warned them of Legolas' plight or even if they had not, hopefully the riders were here to slay the Orcs'. 

Lifting his tired and heavy head, Legolas looked over the camp with interest. Orcs' were everywhere and yet none paid an ounce of attention to him, for which he was thankful. He saw Ashbukra run up to an Orc and bark an order in his ear and as the leader of the Orcs' passed him, the Elf could not hide the shiver of fear that passed through his body. As much as he hated to admit it, he was terrified of that Orc. The others he feared at times as any Elf would in his situation, but Ashbukra, he was different. He was ruthless and unmerciful and every time Legolas lay eyes on him, he could not get the picture of his sucking his blood from his still breathing body out of his head. And after last night, which he still felt the intense pain in his ankles and could not move them in the slightest, he had even more reason to shrink back whenever the Orc came near him. 

However, this time Ashbukra did not even look in Legolas' direction as he ran past, shouting out more and more words that Legolas could not understand at the Orcs' that ran about the camp.

"Naltdrepa! Naltdrepa, Naltlat lul gijak-ishi!" the last bit he yelled into the face of an Orc that was sitting upon the ground, doing nothing. Immediately the Orc leapt to his feet, his face full of anger at whatever Ashbukra had said, and scampered off to grab a sword. 

Legolas watched with fascination. He had never seen these Orcs in such a frenzy before and his mind was racing with possibilities. 

As it was, he only had a moment or two to think of what was happening until a sudden cry went up through the camp that was not of the Orcs'. Looking quickly from left to right and then back again, Legolas soon saw that it was indeed the riders that he had sensed the days before.

*****

Aragorn woke with startling clarity this time, and it only took him a minute to throw his things into his pack and to tell Gimli, who had remained on watch, to do the same. Jumping to his feet, he was already half way down the hill before Gimli even had the time to ask his question.

"What is it, Aragorn? What has happened?" the dwarf demanded as he followed his leader down the hill he had attempted to lead Aragorn down only an hour before. 

"Hurry!" Aragorn called over his shoulder while not stopping his brisk pace. "Things have gone bad, Gimli, things have gone really bad. We must make haste else we have no reason to continue at all." 

That was all Gimli needed to spur him on in his trek as his mind started to speed ahead of himself in the silent quest as to what Aragorn could have seen that would make him this scared and angry. He had seen the flare in the human's eyes as soon as he woken up and it had momentary stunned and shocked the dwarf. 

"Hurry!" Aragorn called again as the human ran across the ground, his large steps that had earned him the name of Strider eating up the ground under foot in his desperate need for speed. 

Sighing and looking to the early morning sky, Gimli quickened his pace until he was just behind the fleet footed human. They would hurry, they would go night and day if need be as long as they found their friends.

*****

The yells of the Orcs surrounded him completely and yet none came near the lone Elf. Lying upon the ground, Legolas watched all that unfolded with a morbid fascination as the riders literally swooped thought the camp, hewing and chopping from their horses, severing heads and limbs before the Orcs could even set up proper defenses. 

A thunderous noise approached him and Legolas found himself flattening to the ground in order to avoid the hooves of a horse that jumped right over his head, the rider obviously blind to his presence. The man and horse rode on, paying no attention to him whatsoever, for which Legolas was thankful. 

Another rider came his way, only this time the Elf was pretty sure that the man knew of his presence. As the rider came closer, a twang sounded through the air only noticeable to Legolas due to his higher degree of hearing then the humans that surrounded him possessed. Looking swiftly in the direction that it had come, he saw an Orc standing there with a bow, now empty as the fell beast reached for another arrow from the quiver on his back. Before he even had time to look back, Legolas knew where the arrow had hit as the sound of a horse rearing up and neighing filled the air. The man that was on the hose that was coming towards him shouted in his own language as his horse collapsed to the ground, rolling over itself. The young man threw himself to the side, just in time to avoid being squashed by the rolling animal, and landed in a graceful roll of his own. Springing back to his feet, he grabbed his own bow and loosed an arrow in the direction of the Orc archer, his target falling moments after. 

On the whole, Legolas was quite impressed with the man's skill and grace, especially for a human, but he reminded himself that he was not in the best of places to ponder over technique. All over the camp, Orcs, men and horses fell alike, neither side looking as if they were prepared to back down and neither looking as if they were winning.

A footstep near his right side drew his attention from the mêlée that had swooped upon the camp, and Legolas turned to see a man standing over him, sword raised and pointed at his throat. Legolas' heart beat faster and faster, what if these men did not know an Elf when they saw one and if they did, what if they were not friends of the fair folk? 

The man seemed startled to find him lying among the dying Orcs and the trampling feet of the horses and he seemed somewhat unknowing as to what to do. He still had the sword pressed right against Legolas throat and the man's shaking hand gave Elven prince cause to worry. 

Suddenly, the man looked over his shoulder and called out in a language that Legolas did not understand. "What do I do with this one?" he yelled to who was obviously his leader, and Legolas recognized him as the one that had jumped from his dying horse. The man was tall with a white-topped helm that sat over blond hair and he was constantly in the thick of the fray. 

"Leave nothing alive," the leader shouted while allowing his sword to pass through the stomach of one of the Orcs' that Legolas recognized as the one that had pressed his head down through one of his first beatings. 

Having not understood anything that the riders had said, Legolas had to rely on the look in the man's eyes to tell him what had transpired and it did not look good. In the conversation, Legolas had taken the opportunity to move slightly to the right to be away from the tip of the blade that threatened his life and, searching the man's eyes he saw that it was a wise move. 

The man looked slightly stunned when he turned back to see that his prisoner was not in the same place as where he had left him, but he was relieved that the strange looking person had not strayed too far. He knew that the being in front of him was not an Orc, and it seemed strange that any other beast would be travelling with a group of Orcs', but orders were orders and he would follow his captain no matter what.

Lifting his sword, he was about to move it into position over the being's head so he could carry out his command, when he saw something flash in the being's eyes. Without any further warning, Legolas' tied hands where around his right knee, pulling forward with all his might. The man lost his balance as the Elf put all his strength into his effort, and, as the rider fell forward, Legolas forced himself to slide across the ground in the direction the man had came, skillfully missing the falling blade. 

Rolling over to his left side, Legolas saw the man getting his senses back, and, with a movement that was painfully slow for the Elf, he raised his bound hands and sent his left elbow into the face of the rider, successfully knocking him out cold. 

Looking around wildly at all the beings', both human and not, fighting for their lives, Legolas knew that he had to find a way to get out of his situation, and fast. It was only a matter of time before someone stronger then him in this state would find him and attempt to add him to the pile of the dead that was starting to form at everyone's feet. 

Turning his gaze to the man that lay beside him, Legolas did a quick visual search of the man. Seeing what he was hoping to find tucked into the man's left boot, he reached over and took the small dagger into his bound hands. 

Placing the leather covered handle into his mouth, Legolas angled his head to he could see his hands off to the left of his vision. Concentrating hard, he angled his hands so that they were in line with the blade and, with a deep breath through his nose, he slide the blade to were his thumbs touched each other. Pushing his hands up so that the blade ran down the rope, he tried hard not to let the commotion going on around him become a distraction. Repeating the process over and over, he finally felt the ropes slacking from the severed threads that were woven to make the strong Orcish rope. 

As the last few strands broke under his pull, he sighed happily at the feeling of being partly free and the circulation returning to his hands and fingers. Rubbing his hands over the small cuts that he had made in the process, Legolas once again checked the man beside him to make sure that he was nowhere near waking. 

He used his hands as a brace and pushed himself up into a sitting position, still holding the dagger tightly in his right hand. His ribs were burring at even that slight movement and his head felt as if it were the only still thing in a revolving world. Looking down at his feet, his heart sunk as he saw the extent of the damage the Orcs' had done. 

Chewing on his bottom lip to stop the cry of pain, the Elven archer leant forward with the knife still in hand while drawing his knees up to his chest. Tasting the blood that was now seeping from his bitten lip, Legolas moved the knife slowly back and forth over the thick rope that was threaded through the flesh of his ankles. He still wondered if he would ever be able to walk again let alone move with the grace of an Elf. Pushing such dark thoughts out of his head, he continued to work at the bonds until they too frayed and split apart. Placing a hand on the knot in his right foot, Legolas attempted to pull it out yet was overcome with such great pain that he felt as it he were about to pass out. 

Punching the ground in frustration at his own weakness, he decided to leave the rope in for the time being, at least until he was somewhere safe were he could afford to drop into sleep. 

Knowing that he had to move soon as the battle was starting to come to a close, Legolas rolled onto his stomach, preparing for an undignified crawl to safety. As he passed the man that he had knocked out, a sudden idea came to him, and, reaching over, he pulled off the helm that the man wore and placed it on his own head. 

His crawl was long, hard and pained him with every inch of ground that he covered. Every millimeter of his body complained and yelled at him to stop his insane attempt of fleeing, yet he would not and scorned himself every time the want to stop overcame him. He could not sit around forever and wait for Aragorn or someone else to help him – he had to do it himself. 

After what seemed like hours he found himself, alive and unharmed in the escape, at the edge of the camp near where some of the Riders' horses were. Seeing the opportunity of a faster escape, he forced his body to comply with his command to sit, and searched through the few horses' with his eyes. Upon seeing one that he though he could handle in this condition, Legolas let out a shrill whistle to get the horses attention. 

"Tôl,' he whispered into the wind for the horse that he had chosen to hear. "Tôl an anim!" The horses snorted and, before the mare that he had chosen could respond, a white charger came over to him. It was a wonderful steed; pure white bar the grey speckled socks that stretched up most of its legs and yet it looked fiery, restive and quite untamed. Yet the Elf could see no other choice as this horse had chosen him so he made his mind up; he would make do and hope for the best.

"Tôl dad," he commanded gently of the horse and was rather surprised when it complied, bending its knees and kneeling down in front of him. Smiling gently to himself and the horse, Legolas used his hand to pull himself up onto the horse's back. The thick leather saddle was a hindrance but he would have to deal with it as he was in no condition, let alone place, to worry about unsaddling a horse solely for comfort. Letting his feet hang free of the stirrups, Legolas took a small clump of the horse's mane and in his right hand and wrapped the reins around his right knuckles, ensuring that he would not fall off. 

Once settled, the horse stood on its own accord and, with a whispered word from the Elf on his back, set off in the direction of Fangorn Forest without so much as a backward glance at its friends and previous rider.

Relief was in the Elven princes' heart as he felt the horse speed up in its gallop towards the forest. He was finally free of the Orcs' and their harsh treatment. And yet, at the same time fear rose within him for now he was truly alone and wounded far worse than he had allowed himself to realise whilst with the Orcs. No small hobbits' would be there to help him or to simply make him laugh, no one but the horse that he was riding upon. 

It was a scary thought, racing away from one danger to another. The warning the Celeborn had given them in Lothlórien was still fresh in his mind and it was even more disturbing to be going there alone. The archer knew that he could not hope to turn and head back in the way the Orcs' had brought him for at least a day or two, so to avoid the riders and any of the Orcs that may have escaped the slaughter. 

With a sigh, he muttered to the horse to hurry up and, whilst the horse's hooves speed across the ground, he tried to relax and calm the inner turmoil that raged through his heart. 

He was going to be alright, he had to be.

*****

Squinting his eyes and placing a hand upon his brow to block out the glare of the sun, the lone soldier looked out over the large body of water that stretched before him. Tightening his hand upon his sword, he waited for the strange object that he had spied to come closer. 

He had seen it once it had rounded the bend in the river, and now that it was coming closer, his curiosity increased. It was floating upon the surface of the glass like water and yet it was not all that high from the water level.

As the current slowly pulled the object closer to him, the soldier soon saw that it was in fact the remains of a boat that coasted down the river towards him. The sun played upon the water and it was as if the rays all focused on the lone floating object, bathing it in a heavenly glow of gold. 

Wading into the water to meet it, the man caught the tail end of the boat and was rather shocked to find the reason that it sat so low in the water. The boat was not whole and it was only the bottom half that bobbed up and down in front of him. The new top edges were uneven and charred; the result of burning and further to concluded his suspicions, a pile of ash lay spread across the entire bottom of the small, wooden remains. It was as if other planks of wood had been place on the top as it was burned and that the ashes were their remains. 

Looking in the small shell something caught his eye. Reaching down in to the far corner of the once boat, the man pulled out a soot blackened sword that he recognized all too well.

"Boromir!" he muttered under his breath while turning his eyes back to the boat. There lay the bottom half of Boromir's shield as well as one of his gauntlets – of the remains thereof. Casting his gaze back on the sword that he held in his hands, realization came over him.

Steadying himself the best he could in the current, the man grabbed hold of the end of the boat and towed it back towards the shore. Once there and the boat was securely run upon the shore, the man collapsed to the ground, hugging the sword and burnt gauntlet to his chest and heart. 

He stayed there for a long time, not crying but in a state of shock, rocking back and forth, all the while muttering; "my brother, not my brother."

*****

He rode on, not daring to stop even though his body screamed at him to do so. He could not afford to stop, not with the riders still on the plain and the threat of Orcs' still in the air. His only plan, or really lack there of, was to get as deep into the woods as possible so that he would have sufficient cover if chance should deem that he would need it. 

So it was with that in mind that he pushed his horse on faster, ignoring the branches that swept back and stung his face after his swift passing.

He had been riding for close to half and hour now, and was well into the woods of Fangorn. It had taken him little time to cross the rest of the way of the plain and reach the first dotted lines of trees that would eventually lead into the thick forest that he was now inclosed by. All the way he had searched for the tiny prints of the hobbits' that he had risked everything for, but he saw nothing, whether it was due to the fact that they had not come this way or his unclear head he knew not. All he knew was that he had to get to shelter before, by some unlucky hand dealt by fate, someone looked up and saw his fleeting form as even a human could see all that passed between the forest and the place where the Orcs' were massacred. 

He rode on in this hurried pace for nigh on an hour, slowly losing himself in the thickness of the dark woods and the swirling of the many shades of green leaves as he breezed past. 

It had been an uncomfortable ride for many a reason. The saddle was more of an impediment then a help and he seriously wondered how any humans' could ride on such things. It blocked and restricted his control and contact with the horse, making it harder to feel what it needed and wanted as it traversed over the land. It also made it harder to move with the horses' natural rhythm, which, in effect, made his wounded ribs and back thump with each and every step. Once again his breathing was labored, and he had the slight inkling that one of his ribs was slowly being forced into his lung, stopping his lung from drawing in it's full potential. 

With each passing minute he became more and more worried. For what was the point of surviving all that he had, for living through captivity with a band of Orcs' and not allowing himself to cut the ties that held him to the world if he was doomed to die alone, in a strange forest from his wounds. It was bitter irony that built up in his heart and made him think of all the terrible outcomes that his escape could have upon him and he hated it. Forcing himself to look on the bright side of all that had happened, he reminded himself that at least he had freed Merry and Pippin, and he himself was free, and if he was to die, at least he would do it in the comfort of a forest, surrounded by the trees that he loved.

Knowing that he could go no further, he leaned forward towards the horse's ears and whispered to him in his own tongue. "Dar-nin mellon. Æ an ir hae ir metuva noro!" 

At his words, the horse stopped straight away. It's graceful white head moved left and right, looking for something that Legolas did not know, and, once it found whatever it was searching for, it started walking slowly to where its eyes were fixated on. 

The horse stopped in front of a small boulder, flat on top and standing only as high as half of its bottom leg. Folding its legs under itself again, the horse lowered itself to the ground while being next to the rock, providing Legolas with an easy step to slide into from the horse and a shorter distance from the rock to the ground then what the horse's back offered. 

Smiling to himself and saying a word of thanks to the horse, Legolas easily slid from the saddle to the rock and then to the ground. Looking back down on his feet, he found that he did not have the heart or the courage to try and relieve his ankles of the rope at the present moment. The horse had wandered off to graze at the far end of the clearing and it was with shock that Legolas saw two thick lines of blood down the horse's sides, obviously having come from his wounded ankles throughout the ride.

Wanting something better to rest upon, Legolas decided that now was as good a time as ever to try and walk. Using the rock as a brace, he slowly pushed himself to his knees and then to his feet, feeling the weakness in his ankles and the shaking of his legs as he tried to do something that he had not done in over a day. 

It was hard, but he seemed able to stand, and with grim determination he lifted his right foot and moved it forward to place on the ground, though it never made it. His left leg buckled under his weight and, with annoyance and a little fear, he fell back to the ground, landing heavily on his backside. 

Sighing, he placed his head in his hands, willing himself not to scream out his anger at the entire situation. He had long given up worrying about how much it all hurt and now solely concentrated on the fact that this rendered him useless. It was easier to bear if he dwelt on the anger and hate instead of the pain and fear as it kept him going, kept the blood pumping through his veins as his mind sort out a chance for redemption. 

A slight nuzzling at his shoulder drew his mind out of the reserved state that he had slipped into and he turned to see the horse standing next to him, pushing gently at his shoulder. The horse flicked its head, forcing the reins over its head, and, for a brief moment, Legolas flinched at the motion and sound, his mind being dragged back unwillingly to the times that he was whipped without mercy. 

He could see the whip, deadly in its owner's hand, as it flew through the air, coming to rest upon his already reddened skin. His back prickled against the small remainders of his shirt as the lash in his mind snapped against the skin, leaving a line of searing pain and red welts in its wake… 

Closing his eyes and shaking his head, Legolas forced himself back to the present to find that the horse was watching him with interest. Smiling at the steed, he allowed the animal to move its head in such a manner that it looped his right hand in the reins. As if the horse had spoken to him, Legolas understood what it was implying with its movements, and, seeing no other option, he allowed the horse to pull him to his feet by turning slightly which raised the reins that Legolas clung to. Placing both arms over the horse's saddled back, Legolas braced himself for what was to come. As the horse took its first step, Legolas followed, putting most of his weight upon the horse's back while standing on his feet as little as possible.

It took them a few minutes, but, in this fashion, the horse managed to escort Legolas over to a thick tree trunk where he could safely and easily rest. Using the reins and the trunk, Legolas lowered himself to the ground and when the horse did the same beside him, he was rather puzzled. After a few minutes of wondering, the Elf finally saw a water skin attached to the saddle and a blanket that was rolled up on the back of the seat. Taking both, he used the blanket as padding between the bark of the tree and his torn back, and drank deeply of the water. The horse once again stood, seeing its job done, and went back to graze on the grass of the forest, only this time a little closer to he Elf. 

It was only after making himself comfortable that Legolas could feel eyes upon him, watching him from the shadows of the gloomy trees that surrounded him completely. Though the gaze sent shivers up his spin, Legolas felt as if it were not evil or a threat and it was with that in mind, and the knowledge that even if he wanted to he could not go another step let along get himself back up onto the horse, that he tried hard to ignore it as he settled against a tree trunk. Even as his eyes grew stiff and hard to move, indicating the coming of Elven sleep, he could not have cared if the being watching him jumped out of the woods and proclaimed itself an enemy. 

It was as the last stages of darkness crept into his mind that he heard it, a slight "Hrum, Hoom," and the approaching footsteps of a large beast of some sort. Yet, in his weakened start, he simply gave himself up to sleep, telling himself that everything would work out alright if he could just get some rest.

Once the Elf was fast asleep, lost in his land of dreams that no other being that lived could access, the creature made itself known. It had been many an age since he had seen an Elf, especially in these parts, and if it was not for the previous show of horsemanship and whispered words he never would have recognized the blood and dirt covered figure as one of the fair folk. 

Moving slowly through the trees of the clearing, the large, tree-like figure approached the sleeping being, and, sensing its discomfort, made his mind up as to what to do with the Elf before him. Smiling down on the being, he gently stretched forth one of his branch-like arms and scooped the Elf up in his equivalent to fingers. Placing the Elf on his large shoulder, he made sure that the sleeping being was stable and secure in his branches by folding them around the figure, creating a little cradle padded with his own leaves for the Elf to rest in. Covering the crib with a few more of his smaller branches he made sure the Elf was warm and safe before digging his roots into the ground a little way, preparing for the sun's rising. 

*****

Tbc . . .

Timeline fore chapter eight.

27 – night.

Frodo and Sam still making their way to Mordor.

28 – early morning.

Orc encampment visited by Saruman who is angered at the hobbits' escape. Legolas is crippled by the rope through his ankles. Again shares a dream with Aragorn.

28 – sunrise.

Éomer attacks Orcs, Legolas crawls away in the confusion and steals a horse (Arod) and rides to Fangorn forest.

29 – early morning (dark).

Legolas can go no further and collapses. Is found by Treebeard and taken into his branches to rest. Faramir sees Boromir funeral boat.

*****

Ok, so I could not resist making him fall on his arse! Lol.

I hope you all like that as it was a bit of a different sort of chapter. I mean, it ended happily!?!?!? Lol, I was rather pleased with how Legolas managed to escape – it took me ages to think of that. I didn't just want Aragorn and Gimli to come along and save his as that is far too boring and stereotypical and the riders finding him was kinda crappy – plus it spoils my plans for next chapter! Also, don't hate Éomer as he was not really "kill the Elf!" I mean, he did not even turn around to see what his solider was asking about – he was merely lost in the thralls of battle. 

As you can see, we have a whole heap of new character in this chapter: Éomer, Saruman, Faramir, Treebeard and Arod (he was the fifth that I mentioned) and the return of Frodo, Sam and the Ring. This is setting everything up for what I have planned. Also, a lot of other characters will be coming into to it in the upcoming Part Two of this story, so look out for that.

Well, as always, please review and let me know what you thought, and once again, thank you to Lady V!

Minka.


	9. Crossing Paths

Hey all! Miss me?  
  
Well, as you can hopefully tell, I am back into writing this story and - shock horror, have the ninth chapter done! Now I know it has been a long time, and I would like to apologize for that, but, as you can see from my other updates I have been slightly busy and real life has been a real bitch lately. I am also in the process of rewriting this entire story, and I wanted to get the first few chapters straightened out before posting this up as they were in a great deal of disrepair.  
  
Oh, a little bit of info for you; apart from the strange dream sequences (which will be discussed in the next chapter I think.) Aragorn and Legolas have not been in a scene together since their first one which was in chapter two!!!!!! I just thought that that was interesting.  
  
Ok, notes:  
  
Oh, and I am really pleased with Aragorn's tracking scene as I had that written before the second movie came out and yet that is just what happened there only with the hobbits - I swear, Peter Jackson is stealing my ideas! Lol  
  
Also, I know that I describe my Treebeard as being different, but that is because I am doing him how I saw him whilst reading the books. I was always under the impression that he would be kinda stocker, not so tall and lanky and would have more braches and whatnot, so just bear with me on that fact please!  
  
Had to re-read some of the past chapters and, umm, ouch! Lol.  
  
Hey, I think this is one of the first chapters that does not carry a warning! Lol, whatever has become of me? *melodramatic stand, wrist pressed to temple*  
  
Dedication: ok this is very broad, but to all of you who have, some subtly, some not so, been telling me in other reviews to *coughupdateshadowscough*. I can not remember all of you at the moment (not on the net whilst writing this for once) but I know a few of you (Vana, Gemstone, EJ, Yours Truly, Ihni, Lady V, legofan, ZeroCool, just to name a few). So this is all for you and all the others that I have so wrongly forgotten. Thank you for your comments, support, encouragement and the occasional kick up the arse! Also, thank you to IthicaJackal who stood up for me at one point - I never really thought that I would have a defender! *big smiles* thank you for you kind words.  
  
Oh, last thought, has anyone read "The Gormenghast Trilogy" by Mervyn Peake?  
  
So, without any further ado, I present. . .  
  
*****  
  
Shadows Within; Darkness Without  
  
By: Minka  
  
Part One: Path into Darkness  
  
Chapter Nine: Crossing Paths  
  
*****  
  
For the second day in a row Frodo was sure that they were being followed and from the almost unnatural feeling that seemed to slink along behind them, he was almost certain that it was the creature Gollum.  
  
It had been almost five days since the two hobbits had entered the impossible entanglement of Emyn Muil and it felt as through they had been lost since that very first step into the rocky wasteland. In all respects, one would think it easy, for, no matter where they were, both travelers could always see the flaming turret of Mount Doom off in the distance yet, no matter how straight a line they kept, the rocks constantly seemed to want to turn them around or put them in the wrong direction. Supplies were running short, water dangerously low and their spirits were even further reduced. Then, atop of that, as if fate had seen fit to give them another challenge, they were incessantly being tracked by the very creature that neither wanted to see.  
  
"We catch him," Sam exclaimed while handing over a piece of Lembas to his companion. "We catch him and put a stop to his lurking once and for all."  
  
"How, Sam?" Frodo asked with what was almost a smile. Not only was the idea a little uncharacteristic of his friend, but it also seemed impossible.  
  
Sam seemed to think on that for a moment, washing the crusty crumbs of Lambas from his mouth with a gulp of water. Both sat on a high rock, looking out over the barren, black lands below them while trying to strategize a way of getting where they, in all truth, did not want to go.  
  
"We trick him," Sam said at last, his voice almost hard and unyielding as he spoke, "tonight.  
  
*****  
  
The thundering of hoses hooves was the first warning that Merry and Pippin had of an approaching company. Exchanging quick glances, they frantically looked about the landscape for somewhere to hide yet came sadly no avail. The land was flat and brown, the green grass dried from the sun so that it crunched underfoot and there was no tree or bush nearby that offered the safety and shelter from eyes that they needed.  
  
The two had been running in the direction that they had come for near on two days now; having started out in the early hours of the night on that day that Legolas risked his life for theirs. Their journey had been spent in silence, neither one saying much for fear of causing a disaster that could not be rectified with mere words. They had but a scrap of waybread left between them and little to no water and yet their Hobbit hearts held true to their vow of finding someone to aid Legolas.  
  
"What do we do?" Pippin asked, breaking the hours of silence that had become their lives.  
  
Pushing his lips together, Merry looked back at the direction the sound was coming from; from the way that they had just come. Knowing that if they could hear the steady, rhythmic beats of the horses' hooves that the beasts must be just over the horizon, Merry saw no way out of the current situation. If they were to run off to the side, they would never make it out of sight before the riders came over the line where the sky met the land, for, even as they stood there, thinking on a way to evade the coming riders, the thunderous sound grew louder and louder.  
  
"Nothing," Merry said slowly, turning his eyes to his cousin and dear friend. "There is nothing that we can do. We can not hide, and we can not run for they will find us. We must only hope that they are friends and the riders that Legolas spoke of." Again silence fell over them at the mention of the Elf's name; the one that had sacrificed so much in order to save them.  
  
Nodding his head in agreement to the statement saying that there was nothing else that they could do, Pippin flopped down on the ground in defeat and weariness. They had barely stopped since their escape, knowing that any moment that they took for rest could be the moment that would cost Legolas more pain or even worse, his life.  
  
"We wait!" Pippin sighed out as Merry cast himself to the ground next to him, his breathing coming in labored pants from both the exertion and the growing fear.  
  
Sitting and waiting, as futile as it seemed, did in fact allow them the first chance since their flight to consider the future, however glum it may have seemed.  
  
Casting a nervous glance to Merry, Pippin swallowed hard, his throat dry and sore from the lack of fluid to grace it. Biting his bottom lip, he was finding it hard to just sit still and wait for what might prove all their demise; both for him and Merry as well as Legolas.  
  
They had let so much hang on the belief that they would find Aragorn, safe and well and searching for them, that not once had they ever considered the other options that were present and all the more likely. What if these riders were not friends of the free people of Middle-Earth? What if they were corrupted just as Saruman was by Sauron and only wished to see all that stood against their masters destroyed? It was a horrifying thought to be just sitting there, wait for the undesirable outcome of what such an action could cause.  
  
"What do we do, Merry?" Pippin asked quietly, confusing his cousin.  
  
"What do you mean?" Merry questioned, "we sit here and wait - 'tis all we can do."  
  
Shaking his head vigorously, Pippin cast a worried look at the direction of the ever growing noise. "No," he said, once again quietly as if the riders could hear him over the hooves and from such a distance. "What do we do if they are foes? What do we do about Legolas?"  
  
Looking back at his cousin, Merry did not have to speak to let him know his thoughts. There was nothing that they could do, no way of aiding their friend if this did not go as they would like. If these riders were of evil intent, then they, as well as Legolas were doomed and both knew it.  
  
With that shared knowledge, they sat there, awaiting their fate - good or evil - and knowing that that time drew ever nearer as the sound of many horse feet pounded upon the ground grew louder.  
  
Minutes seemed to turn into hours though both knew that it was impossible for such a lapse of time. Yet, sure enough the noise grew louder and louder, and, with a great feeling of trepidation , the two small hobbits saw a host of riders come charging over the rise.  
  
There would have been at least fifteen humans', each carrying spears and armed with swords. Their helms shone in the midday sun, momentarily blinding the hobbits as they looked at the approaching mounted Big Folk.  
  
Already they could tell that their leader at least had seen them, and, with a rising feel of panic, they found themselves surround by the riders before they could even stand. Spears were pointed at them, their tips only just reaching the hobbits' heads whilst standing.  
  
"What are you children doing out here?" their leader asked, his hair dark and longer then Aragorn's.  
  
Looking to Merry, Pippin shrugged his shoulders, fear in his eyes and inclined his head to his friend, telling him to do the talking. Stepping forward, the little Hobbit looked up at the still mounted man. "We are not children, sir," he said respectively and with a slight bow. "We are Halflings or Hobbit's - of the Shire!" again he bowed slightly, as if the Shire was as common a name as Gondor.  
  
"Hobbits?" the man asked while turning to his companions, looking for any recognition with their eyes. Seeing none, he turned his gaze back to the small beings in front of him, "we have not heard of your kind before."  
  
"Most have not, sir," Pippin put in before his cousin could, "we like to keep to ourselves mostly, and out of the way of you Big Folk."  
  
Confusion settled in on the man's face as he looked down at the child like figures. True, after further inspection, he could see that they did not have faces of a child, they looked to be in their late twenties, maybe a little older and the way they spoke also suggested that they were not as young as their height so easily suggested. The other interesting thing was their large furry feet and slightly pointed ears, but, through all this, one thing, working on who they claimed to be, did not make sense.  
  
"If you like to keep to yourselves," he stated before following it up with a question, "then what are you doing so far from home, little ones?"  
  
His voice seemed friendly and, much to the Hobbit's ease, the spears had been lifted from above their heads, suggesting that the riders meant them no harm. Looking to Merry again, Pippin asked the unspoken question of what to tell them. Were they friend of foe? Could they trust them with the knowledge of a wounded Elf and a traveling king? Letting his gaze answer Pippin the best he could, Merry once again turned his eyes to the man, ready to give his answer.  
  
"We were abducted by a band of Orcs and Uruk-hai from near our borders," he lied, not wanting to risk these men obtaining any precious information that they should not about their quest. He had also decided that, until he knew that they could be trusted, they should not go telling them of Legolas and his plight for many a time had they heard Aragorn or one of the Elves themselves talking of the dangers of men finding the fair folk. They seemed to want to possess them, to be able to have an otherworldly being and, as much as he wanted to help Legolas, he did not want to deliver him to the hands of a race that could be just as cruel when offered the right inspiration. "We have been taken this far and only through luck have we managed to escape around three days ago. We have been traveling ever since."  
  
"You were prisoners of the Orcs?" the man asked, and Merry thought that he detected a little sorrow in his voice. Nodding his head in a yes, Merry was surprised to see the man's eyes soften and a small, triumphant smile come upon his face. "Very well then," he said, "whether you are indeed this 'halflings' that you claim to be or if you are just children, we can not leave you here. You shall accompany us to the halls of the King of Rohan." Motioning three riders towards him, he turned to them, "Savan, would you take," he looked to Merry, his eyes asking his question.  
  
"Merry," Merry replied, giving his name, "and this is my cousin Pippin," he said while pointing to the other, younger looking Hobbit.  
  
Smiling, the leader of the riders turned back to the three men, "Savan, would you take Merry with you, and Dlin, you shall take Pippin." Turing to the last man, he allowed the Savan and Dlin to scoop Merry and Pippin up respectively and place them in front of them in the saddle. "Cavain, will you ride back and inform Éomer of this matter. Join up and stay with them until you get back to Edoras."  
  
With a formal bow, Cavain was on his way, riding like the wind back in the direction that they had come, his cape flapping out being him as the party now carrying the two hobbits set off once again in the opposite bearing and, for Merry and Pippin, the unknown.  
  
*****  
  
Sam's plan had worked, and, between the two of them they were able to get the rope about Gollum's neck after grabbing him as the crawled spider-like down the rock face near their make shift camp. They had pretended that they were sleeping, letting the Ring do its work in calling the emasculated creature down the wall and to them, and, as he was about to snatch it from Frodo, both he and Sam had whirled into action.  
  
Now, after tugging him along and listening to his cries of pain and pleads of release, Frodo and Sam had had enough. Sam, unlike his master and friend felt nothing for the twisted creature, and not wanting to give it the power of free movement was strongly apposed to what was transpiring.  
  
Gollum had been begging for the rope to be lifted, complaining that it burnt into his skin like a cold flame and Frodo, pitting the creature as Gandalf had once said Bilbo had, was in mind to do as the wretched thing asked.  
  
"If," Frodo stressed the word, "if we take this off, you must promise to help us. You have been to Mordor, have you not?" Gollum seemed to shrink at the very name, its eternal darkness once again pulling at his mind and welling in his heart. Nodding his head slowly, fear in his eyes Frodo took that as an answer and , looking over at Sam, continued. "Then you shall lead us there, to the black gates," his command was firm and his authority obvious, silencing even Sam on the subject.  
  
At first Gollum shook his head, the few thin hairs that remained floating lightly about his face and terror flicked eyes. "It is that or the rope," Frodo offered him the choice once again, and the Hobbit could see the other thinking on the two choices. After what seemed like an hour, Gollum finally gave his answer.  
  
"We swears! On-on the preciouss." Gollum hissed while yanking at the Elven rope about his neck and looking pleadingly into Frodo's eyes. "We shalls swear on the precious! We know the way, yes, yes we do. Gollum. We shall take you there, but this," he said while tugging on the rope, "this burns us!"  
  
Reaching down, Frodo pulled the slip knot out far enough to be able to remove the loop of rope from around Gollum's neck. "You know that the Ring will hold you to your vow," he said at the look of pleasure that spread over Gollum's face as the rope was removed and he was once again free.  
  
Nodding once again and casting a weary look to Sam, Gollum hunched over on all fours and started to leap forward. Once at a safe distance, he whirled around and looked them both in the eyes. "Through the missts, we'll take you, yes, yess, through the mists! Gollum." Gollum said, his eyes big and bright. Nodding his head, the round grey shape bobbing on his shoulders like a ball on wave tossed water, he turned and scampered back a few more paces before once again turning and beckoning the two hobbits forward. "This way hobbitses, we shall shows you!"  
  
Looking to Sam, Frodo saw the unwillingness in his friend's eyes, but, knowing that, as much as he hated to admit it, Gollum was their best chance of getting out of the maze of rocks, he inclined his head forward, telling Sam wordlessly to follow the creature that was leaping about before them.  
  
*****  
  
The distant snow capped mountains did naught to ease the heat of the day as two weary figures trudged onwards, never stopping even though their bodies cried for the rest. It was as if it were a cruel joke of fate, for them to be in such immense need of hast and yet to be overwhelmed with such great requirements of rest at the same time, thus forcing them to chose between themselves and their lost friends.  
  
There was never a doubt as to which of the two both would value over the other.  
  
And so they went on, walking over flat and knoll alike as the sun quickly approached her zenith, her light in full strength upon the land and heating the air. It was whilst wiping the sweat off his brow that Aragorn, intently looking out over the landscape that rolled out ahead, first picked up on the slight tremor in the ground beneath his feet. Tilting his head to the side in concentration, Aragorn carefully cast himself upon the ground, his right ear pressed to the dirt and grass as he listened intently.  
  
The ground shook steadily and rhythmically, as if the very earth were a drum and a giant was playing upon it, striking up a lively tune. The wind seemed to whisper of an approaching force, just as the stone buried deep beneath the soil reflected and enhanced the sounds.  
  
"Riders!" Aragorn exclaimed to a fascinated Gimli. The dwarf, who had seen little in his life other then the wonders of stone and gems, was utterly intrigued by the strange show that was played out before him by the experienced ranger. "The ground trembles under their approach, can you feel it?" To Gimli, the question was like asking him to climb a tree, utterly pointless for the answer should have already been known. With that in mind, he merely shook his head in a no, not bothering to use the axiomatic statement.  
  
Aragorn, who was still listening to the vibrations of the earth, was not really expecting a response and so, once he had established all that he could from the reactions of the surrounding area, rose to his feet and grabbed his pack. "They ride this way, more then a hundred, I should think. They will be upon us with a matter of minutes."  
  
"What do we do then, are they friend or foe?" Gimli asked, also shouldering his pack as a way of reassuring the Ranger that he would follow whatever he decided.  
  
Turning east, Aragorn let his gaze fall in the direction that they had come, seeing no where to hide them before sweeping his eyes further south and towards the place where Edoras, the city of the Rohan's lay. "Once I have traveled with them," he said almost to himself as most of his words where these days. He seemed to be slowly slipping away from the reality that was the world - or succumbing into its depths. "They are true enough, good men though often bold and irrational and they follow the ways of old. It is as if they do not wish to see the world age, nor want to move forward with it like Gondor, and so they are simpler in their motives and actions. I do not believe that we have anything to fear."  
  
"So we just wait? Like ducks upon a pond while a hunter approaches?"  
  
Turning to face his friend, Aragorn offered him the smallest glimmer of a smile, the closest thing to an emotion other then grief and self-blame that he had let pass over his face in days. "Aye, my friend, we wait," Aragorn said with a nod while sitting himself on the ground near a large, grey colored boulder. Small creepers had grown up over the rough surface and little weeds sprung from crevices in the rock that had been filled with soil by the wind that swept along the plain, all of which gave it a slightly alive feeling, taking away from the cold, unforgiving feel. None of this Aragorn noticed as he stared out upon the path that they were, hopefully, soon to be once again traveling. "But do not fear for we, unlike ducks upon a pond, have both the skill of flight and fight if need calls for it."  
  
Sighing gruffly, Gimli lowered himself beside the Ranger, his head barely reaching the man's shoulder, and pulled out his water flask. Taking a deep drink he then offered it to Aragorn who declined the offer in silence, his gaze fixated upon the twisted borders of Fangorn that lined the horizon.  
  
It was at least five minutes before the Horse Masters made their way over the small hillock that the two sat upon, and, much to their surprise, the riders rode right past, not heeding the beings that watched them from the side.  
  
Standing tall, Aragorn once again grabbed his pack and walked a small way down the hill, Gimli after him. Drawing in a deep breath, he raised his head and called, "Hail! Riders of Rohan, what news have you of the north?"  
  
The leader of the pack lifted his spear and, holding it horizontal to the ground, pointed it towards the left. As one, the body of horsemen turned, keeping to their formation and circled back up the hill, enclosing both Aragorn and Gimli in a tight and well organized ring.  
  
"Who goes there?" a voice from one of the riders shouted out, "and what be your business in land of the Rohirrim?"  
  
Aragorn held up his hand in a sign of peace as a hundred spears were pointed in his and Gimli's direction. Eyes quickly searching the riders in front of him, he saw that they were all strong swordsmen and armed well and yet most showed signs of a scuffle of recent happenings.  
  
"We mean no harm to you or your land," Aragorn said, looking at the rider that had spoken and who was obviously their leader. "We are merely passing through."  
  
Dismounting, the leader of the riders raised his hand in a command for the others to lower their spears as he stepped into the formed circle, eyeing both companions suspiciously. "No one just passes through these lands," he said darkly and to both Aragorn and Gimli it seemed that a shadow passed over his face. "No one passes through any lands these days without due reason, so be out with it."  
  
Looking to Gimli, Aragorn bit his bottom lip in frustration at the feeling of inapt that had taken over. He did not wish to tell of the Ring of power, nor of the Fellowship and especially not of Legolas and the hobbits capture to a group of strangers. He had heard that the riders where neutral, siding with neither the Dark powers or that of the good, and such incomplete knowledge put him at unease with the strange humans.  
  
"We are simply passing through on business which is to remain our own!" Gimli said heatedly before Aragorn could have the chance to speak. The dwarf was gripping the handle of his axe, the blades buried shallowly in the earth, and glaring up at the helmed human.  
  
"No one has business in these lands which is unknown for all must appear before the King seeking permission," the man said, his voice clipped and his stare harsh as he regarded Gimli with a look that one would send to an upstart that needed squashing. "And, unless you go by winged feet, there is no possible way that you could have knelt before my King without I knowing of it. So now, no more of this folly dodging of the subject, tell me who you are and what are you doing within the borders of the Rohirrim!"  
  
Standing to his full height in protest of the looks that the human was sending him, Gimli squared his shoulders and raised his chin in a sign of defiance. "I shall tell you my name, rider, only if you tell me yours first!"  
  
Whirling on the dwarf and drawing his sword quickly and smoothly, the rider pointed the tip to Gimli's throat, making sure to place emphasis on the fact that he had to point downwards, mocking the dwarf's height. "Your impudence does not cease to aggravate me, dwarf," he spat while looking down at the slightly reddened Gimli. Withdrawing his sword, the rider turned back to Aragorn with one last comment for the son of Gloin, "If your head stood but a foot taller I would chop it off, beard and all."  
  
Having had enough of the offered insult, Gimli hefted his axe into his hands and took a step forward, hate and malice in his dark eyes. Seeing the advance, the leader of the riders lifted his sword once again and turned, expecting to face Gimli but found a fuming Aragorn planted firmly between the two, hand wrapped around the handle of his still sheathed sword.  
  
"Enough!" Aragorn hissed out while forcing eye contact with the rider. Holding his gaze, the future king of Gondor concentrated in keeping his eyes clear of all the emotion that had been building up since Legolas' capture and making his stare even and dangerous. "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn or Strider of the Dúnadan of the North. This is Gimli, son of Gloin," his words were hushed and whispered yet still with a slight dangerous edge in his tone. "Now Rider of Rohan, return the grace we have shown you and tell us your name."  
  
Still holding eye contact, the rider bowed slightly to the man that claimed to be the long lost king of the southern lands of Gondor. "I am Éomer, son of Éomund and the nephew of King Théoden of the Mark." His words where spoken slowly, as if he had fallen under a spell whilst looking into Aragorn eyes and his voice was hushed as if he spoke from a distance.  
  
Finally breaking the gaze, Éomer, looked from Gimli to Aragorn and then to the way that the two must have come. "Now, tell me why it is that you disrespect our laws and walk unbidden in our lands."  
  
"We meant no disrespect," Aragorn said sincerely while placing his hand to his heart in a sign of compliance to the other warrior, "and we did not know that such rules existed throughout these lands for long has it been since I last trod these plains."  
  
When Éomer nodded slightly and turned his hand in a prompt, Aragorn continued, careful to choose his words wisely so not to give them cause of suspicion and yet not say too much. "We were in need of great haste for we are tracking a band of Orcs that passed this way a day ago."  
  
"A band of Orcs?" Éomer asked with a slight chuckle. "You two are attempting to hunt down a large band of Orcs, alone and unassisted and without even a mount?" The smirk on his face infuriated Aragorn to no ends, but, careful of his composure, the other human smiled back, pretending to see the humor in the situation.  
  
"I do see that it looks rather unprofessional," Aragorn started only to be interpreted by a still smiling Éomer.  
  
"Unprofessional?" he laughed out while his chuckle was shared by a few of the other riders that looked on with interest and amusement, "it is pure folly!" Finally getting a hold of himself, the rider let his face fall back to that of an unreadable mask, his eyes only just hiding the mirth that he found in the situation.  
  
"Unprofessional, yes." Aragorn stated, unheeding of the mocking looks, "folly, perhaps. Yet either way we beg leave so that we may continue on our hunt for time is the one thing that we are running out of." He hated this, hated the wait and the length of time that they had spent standing still already. Legolas could need them - he did need them - and in order to aid him they had to move quickly, and yet, here they were, standing around and discussing the foolishness of wanting and needing to save a friend.  
  
Seeing that there was no reply, Aragorn looked up to Éomer's eyes, only to find that they were locked onto the gauntlets that protected the ranger's wrists.  
  
"Where did you come by those?" Éomer asked softly while not taking his eyes from the hardened leather painted with the White Tree of Gondor.  
  
"They once belonged to Boromir of Gondor," Aragorn said slowly, not sure where this was going.  
  
"Once belonged?" Éomer's voice was slightly shaken and his face had turned pale within the few moments of looking at the guards.  
  
"He has fallen," Aragorn said quietly while looking to the gauntlets himself. He had almost forgotten that he wore them for it seemed an age ago that he had taken the son of Gondor's broken horn and these gauntlets as tokens to present to Boromir's father should they ever make it to Gondor.  
  
"Boromir has fallen?" Éomer asked with a quivering voice. Eyes darting up to lock onto Aragorn's, he asked, "how?"  
  
"Orcs," Aragorn replied with a hint of malice. "Orcs at Parth Galen; the very beings that we hunt now and have cause for need to get back to hunting." Trying to hint at the fact that they needed to go, Aragorn let his eyes drift over towards north-west and was shocked when he could make out the defined wisps of smoke coming from over a distant hill. It disturbed him greatly that he was yet to feel the presence of Legolas that day and with smoke coming from the location that they needed to reach, his fear for the Elf picked up immensely.  
  
"Why were you with him?" Éomer asked, cutting into Aragorn's darkened thoughts. "Why was he with you and what where you doing near the Falls of Rauros?" Being taken off guard by the intensity of the question, Aragorn hesitated for a moment, opening his mouth aimlessly and yet having nothing to say nor the thoughts to put into constructed sentences. "What where you doing there and what happened."  
  
Letting the words come to him the best he could, Aragorn tried to explain the happenings of the fight without mentioning the Ring or Legolas and the Hobbits' capture. "He was part of our traveling companionship," Aragorn said, "we were nine. . .he fell due to a sudden attack by a band of Orcs."  
  
"Nine?" the rider asked concisely, catching onto Aragorn stumble. "I see only two, so where are your other six companions?"  
  
Wanting to leave as much detail out of his explanation as possible, Aragorn looked to Gimli, who merely shrugged. "Another has fallen, and two others have gone their separate way. The other three are unaccounted for."  
  
Frowning at the strange response and wondering how three could just go missing from a group, Éomer bit his lip and looked towards the acceding smoke in the distance. "So that is why you follow them - the Orcs?" he questioned, "revenge for the fall of Boromir?"  
  
Deciding that it seemed a safe excuse, Aragorn nodded solemnly and bowed his head. Catching onto the lie, Gimli did the same, his face portraying no sign of the recognition of the stretched truth.  
  
"That is well," Éomer said grimly while turning his eyes back to the two standing before him. "You shall now have no problems in coming with us for know that your revenge has been taken."  
  
Both Aragorn and Gimli's heads snapped up at the same time, looks of horror written across them as they gaped at the riders. "What?" Aragorn shrieked, the fear in his heart making his voice high.  
  
"We rode them down early yesterday morning," Éomer explained, "none got away and none were left living, so do not fear that your vengeance has not been done, for it has. That smoke you see," he said, pointing over towards the rising gray on the horizon that Aragorn had seen earlier, "that is them burning for their crimes. Now come, you may tell me more of Boromir's untimely departure along the way."  
  
"W-we have not the time for such. . .for such long and grievous news," Aragorn protested weakly, his hands pressed to the sides of his head and his eyes on Gimli. There was this sinking feeling in his heart and a pounding in his temples as, for the first time in days, he seriously thought of the horror of Legolas' death. Never had the thought really crossed his mind for he had always held hope that they would reach him, told himself that they would get there in time, that that all would be well and that Legolas would stand to fight beside them once again. Never had he even dared to think of life without the blond archer by his side, friends through all as they had been since Aragorn was but a child. These thoughts, the ones of loneliness and death that assailed his mind now were devastating, horrifying and enough to numb him to the bones.  
  
"I have told you," Éomer said, his voice commanding and matter-of-factly, "the Orcs are destroyed. What need could you possibly have for such hurry now?"  
  
"They can not all be dead!" Aragorn said, pushing the evil concepts out of his head and renewing his hope for his friend. . .and yet, in the back of his mind a small voice whispered to him to prepare for the worst.  
  
"I assure you, we did the job well - Boromir has been rightfully avenged!" Éomer stated somewhat testily, annoyed that the lone human seemed to be questioning both his word and his accuracy in carrying out such a task.  
  
Trepidation overwhelming him, Aragorn cast his earlier caution about revealing Legolas' existence to the smoke filled wind and, rushing forward so that he could look right into the eyes of the rider, demanded, "an Elf! There was an Elf with them, a Silvan - blond. Did you see him?"  
  
"An Elf with a band of Orcs? That is preposterous. . ." his words suddenly faded out and a look of confusion passed over his features which was not lost to the Ranger or the dwarf. Éomer's brow creased with the sudden realization of what an Elf was doing among the Orcs and, shooting a sympathetic look towards to two travelers said, "I did not see him."  
  
Again, it was as if Aragorn's world shattered, came crashing about his feet like the remnants of a stone wall long destroyed. Questions raced through his head, each doubtful and yet still he countered them with the smallest glimmer of hope that he still held within his heart. Eyes dropping to the ground and his bottom lip bitten firmly between his teeth, he tried to harness the sinking feeling that arose in his stomach, making him feel as if he were about to retch. Already his vision was blurred with the first formation of tears and he did naught to try and stop them from coming, fearing neither ridicule nor damage to his pride.  
  
"Sir?" a hesitant voice called out from one of the horses off to Aragorn's left. Knowing that the comment was neither directed at him or concerning him, Aragorn kept his head bowed, feeling the first of his long held in tears slip down his cheeks.  
  
At a nod from Éomer, the younger soldier continued. "Sir, I saw this being that they talk of - at least I think I did."  
  
Head snapping up, Aragorn looked to the man that had spoken, hope in his tear filled eyes. "You saw him?" he questioned, the relief obvious in his voice. "Where? What happened to him? Was he alright?" the Rangers questions were fired quickly, each running into the last in order to find out as much as he could about his lost friend.  
  
"Why did you not tell me that there was another among the Orcs?" Éomer also shot his question at the poor man who chose to answer his captain's query first.  
  
"I did sir," he said nervously, "you told me to-" he cast a worried look in the direction of the Ranger and dwarf who were both staring at him, openly displaying their hope, "you told me to leave nothing alive."  
  
"WHAT?" Aragorn yelled, anger mixing with his panic. Not even thinking, he raced forward and, reaching up, hauled the man right off his horse by the scruff of the neck. Shaking the man and half lifting him from the earth, the Rohan rider tried hard to get out of the crazed Ranger's grasp, seeing murder written in Aragorn's eyes.  
  
"You what?" Aragorn demanded while shaking the man again and practically yelling into his face. Yet, before he could ask anything else, a score of spears where pointed towards him and a set of strong hands grabbed his shoulders, pulling him backwards and releasing the man from his death grip. Once his hands where free of the rider's throat, Aragorn felt himself get thrown back, and, landing on his backside and elbows, straightened himself up and hugged his knees while covering his face with his hands. A hand on his shaking shoulder told him that Gimli too felt the dread that he did.  
  
"But I didn't!" the man that Aragorn had grabbed protested, his words not sinking into Aragorn's thoughts. "I did not kill him - he knocked me out and stole my dagger." Looking up, Aragorn saw the man smile down at him, his expression forgiving and full of the hope that Aragorn no longer felt. "I took care to see if his body was with those to be burnt, and I did not see him!" Coming forward and kneeling down beside the distraught man and the dwarf, his smile seemed to grow bigger and cause a flutter of optimism within Aragorn. "His body was not among them, I assure you, and one of our horses' is missing, the tracks lead towards Fangorn Forest. I believe that he made it out."  
  
The man's smile proved to be contagious and within a few minutes, both Aragorn and Gimli were smiling like Cheshire cats. A small, almost maddened laugh came from Aragorn as he looked up to Gimli and held back the urge to hug the rider in his restored happiness.  
  
Pulling himself to his feet, the Ranger looked to Éomer, who was watching all in silence, and offered a slight bow. "I beg you, Éomer of the Rider Mark, we must be on our way. I know of your rules, but please, this once, make an exception. We must find him."  
  
Looking the man over, Éomer bit his lip and looked towards his men before once again turning his attention to Aragorn. "So you were not really avenging Boromir's death?"  
  
Shaking his head in a no, Aragorn replied, "not entirely. Three of our people where taken by the Orcs, Legolas, the Elven prince and two small child-like beings - hobbits, Merry and -"  
  
"Pippin!" Éomer cut him off, causing Aragorn to regard him with unrefined curiosity. "A small group of us who went ahead found them on their road back from the Orcs," Éomer explained, "they are with them now, going to our city. A rider was sent back to tell me of them, but he said nothing of an Elven companion nor you, so I did not put two and two together."  
  
"They are safe then?" Aragorn said while smiling broadly at Gimli.  
  
"Very," Éomer assured him, "they would almost be at Edoras now, give or take a few hours."  
  
Nodding in relief, Aragorn once again turned to pleading his case to the rider. "Then please, let us go on to find our other friend. Have the little ones as reassurance that we will come to your city, whether our search is successful or not, and ask for forgiveness from your king for breaking the laws of this land. Please?"  
  
Smiling himself, Éomer nodded, almost drawing a whop of excitement from Gimli, and nodded towards the far end of the circle of riders. "I shall even give you horses if you promise to bring them back."  
  
"You have my word," Aragorn said with a bow that Gimli matched. Turning, Éomer motioned for them to follow him as the riders dispersed to make a path.  
  
As both Aragorn and Gimli walked through, Gimli reached up and grabbed hold of Aragorn's tunic sleeve and gave it a subtle tug. "Aragorn, I can not ride!" his hissed softly, not wanting the riders to hear such a thing.  
  
Nodding slowly, Aragorn looked down at his companion, "will you be content riding behind me then?" he asked and received a small and almost nervous nod from the dwarf.  
  
"This," Éomer said while patting a dark-grey horse on the nose, "is Hasufel and he will serve you well. He is both swift yet careful of his footing making him perfect for your needs. And for you," he said to Gimli, who rose his hand, calling a stop to his sentence.  
  
"I shall ride behind my friend," Gimli said with as much pride as he could, "it is not in the dwarven way to ride, but this is an exception."  
  
Nodding slightly, Éomer handed the reins of Hasufel to Aragorn and called a handful of men over to aid Gimli in mounting the large horse. Once on, he clung to Aragorn as if his very life depended upon it.  
  
"Remember your oath, Aragorn, son of Arathorn," Éomer said with a slight bow.  
  
Inclining his head formally, Aragorn lightly kicked his heels into the sides of the horse and within a moment, they were off, racing towards the rising smoke while leaving the riders behind along with a cloud of dust.  
  
*****  
  
Crouching down on the ground, Aragorn tried hard not to let the smell of the burnt corpses of the Orcs to fill his nostrils and yet it seemed to be in vain. The smell of the dead hung heavily in the air, cloaking everything with its stench like the night sky does with darkness and it was almost impossible not to want to retch from the foul reek.  
  
They had not even bothered to check the corpses of the Orcs that were piled head high and charred from the effects of the fire that had been put to them, having placed faith in the rider who claimed that the Elf was not among the dead. Instead, as soon as they had reached the battle field, Aragorn had cast himself upon the bloodied, muddy ground to search for clues as to Legolas' whereabouts during the fight and what direction he had taken.  
  
So far they had found no trace of the Elf, which, on any normal circumstances, Aragorn would have envied his friend for, but this time, all it did was hinder their progress in finding the missing prince. The fact that the place had been trampled by many feet and hooves also made the search infuriating, and due to a handful of fallen riders and some wounded, they could not even look for the tell tale sign of red Elven blood among the black of the Orcs.  
  
Sighing with frustration, Aragorn stood to stretch his legs and work at the cricks in his neck. He could not remember how long both he and Gimli had been there, the intoxicating stench of the dead Orcs working at their senses while they stared at the ground and yet not knowing what it was that they were looking for.  
  
"Aragorn?" Gimli called to him from the other side of the Orc pile, "what do you make of this?"  
  
Moving with as much speed as his tired and heavy legs would allow him, Aragorn made his way over to where Gimli was kneeling down on the ground, some twenty feet from the main area of the battle. Dropping to his hands and knees, Aragorn looked at the strange patch of flattened grass and the deep gouges in the dirt that Gimli had pointed to.  
  
Looking behind him, he saw a long line of flattening grass, each blade only slightly crushed and yet all in the direction of the strange markings upon the ground. Peering closer, he saw a line of red blood that had partly seeped into the ground, the soil glad of the nutrients that it had received.  
  
Reaching over and grasping Gimli's shoulder with a smile, Aragorn pointed to the trail. "It is Legolas!" he stated, "look," he said while motioning to the way the grass was bent. "He pulled himself along, that is why the grass in flattened and yet not too greatly. And look, there were horses here!" he pointed to all the hoof prints and the slightly chewed grass. "He called one to him," he pointed towards the tracks that lead towards where Legolas' trail ended, "and it knelt down, so to speak, to allow him the ability to get upon its back. Those marks are from its feet digging into the earth in order to get back up."  
  
"Is such a thing even possible, Aragorn?" Gimli asked with a hint of disbelief in his voice.  
  
"It is for an Elf," Aragorn said while biting his lip again and following the trail of the horses galloping feet. "And Legolas was always good with such beasts', and see," he exclaimed while pointing off towards the forest, "the tracks lead that way - it has to be him!"  
  
Jumping to his feet, his weariness forgotten, Aragorn pulled Gimli up by the arm and whistled for the horse that they were given. When Hasufel came up and nuzzled his hand, Aragorn smiled at the mount, having decided that he like the animal early on, and patted its nose.  
  
Turning to Gimli, he aided the dwarf up onto the mounts back and then leapt up himself, careful not to knock Gimli out of the way in his effort. Clicking his tongue against his cheek and pulling the reins in the direction that they wanted to go, the horse automatically took off at a neck breaking pace, causing Gimli to hold onto Aragorn so tightly that it restricted the Ranger's breathing.  
  
With a few curses flowing from Gimli's lips, they were off and heading in the direction of the dark forest, Aragorn never taking his eyes from the trail that he was sure was caused by his friend.  
  
*****  
  
The woods of Fangorn forest held an eerie dark presence about them, putting both Aragorn and Gimli at unease as they entered under the first overhanging branches. Mist seemed to cling to the ground, circling the twisted roots of the trees that protruded from the forever damp soil and coiled up the contorted trunks of the strange, dark wood trees. No sunlight was able to penetrate through the thick canopy that the leaves of the deformed trees created, thus giving the forest even more of a menacing effect as well as making it unnaturally cold. Behind Aragorn, Gimli clung to him, muttering about how the trees seemed as if they were about to attack them and were closing in, and Aragorn wished above all that they had Legolas with them in such a dark place.  
  
The tracks were easy to read even in this place due to the fact that no other animal had passed through that way in many a year or maybe even more. From what Aragorn could tell, they were at least a day behind the tracks, but were quickly gaining on them which was a great relief. The sun had already started to set in the West, but that hindered them not for it made the woods no darker then what they already were, and if anything, it spurred them on, knowing that Legolas would need to seek rest sometime soon.  
  
Looking ahead, Aragorn was startled to see an almost glowing white through the dark trees. Double-taking the image, he found it to be real and not a figment of his overworked and stressed mind, and, leaning forward, he whispered to the dwarf behind him to look over his shoulder. "Gimli! Look ahead!"  
  
Peering into the darkness, Gimli too saw the strange white shape ahead and, muttering a dwarven curse, allowed his eyes to roam over the area surrounding, looking for any sign of danger.  
  
"Gimli!" Aragorn hissed, "dismount!" Grumbling, the dwarf slipped from the horse as best as he could, trying not to make too much noise.  
  
Once Aragorn was out of the saddle and had his sword drawn, they both moved hesitantly forward, Gimli with his axe held high and at the ready. Moving through the trees with as much stealth as they could, it was Aragorn who first realized what the strange whiteness was.  
  
Casting aside his caution, he hurried into the small clearing and over to what was now apparent to be a horse supporting the tack of the Rider Mark.  
  
Once the horse saw the man approaching, it moved away from where it was grazing and stood protectively in front of a large tree, its eyes boring into Aragorn's as the human slowly approached with his hand stretched out.  
  
Seeing the distrust in the horse, Aragorn stopped his advance and looked it right in the eyes. "Gar sidh!" he said softly, telling it to have peace. Noticing the way that the hose visibly relaxed at his hushed Elven words, Aragorn continued to talk to it while once again advancing upon it slowly, a gentle smile on his face. "Im car le u lhaew! Im hirní an mellon, an Edhel!" [I do you no harm! I am looking for a friend, an Elf!]  
  
As if it understood the words that were spoken to it, the horse moved over to the human and nuzzled him affectionately. Smiling and running his hand over its nose, a strange mark on its side drew Aragorn's attention and, bending down he gasped and called Gimli over.  
  
"Blood!" he said once the dwarf was by his side, "Elven blood." Moving around to the other side, he saw a long stain that mirrored the other. "My dream - if that is what it was," Aragorn stated while returning to Gimli's side, his right hand in the air and turning over as if it helped him to think. "When Legolas went to leave, he-he had a rope through his ankles. Such a thing would cause such a mark!" He finished while looking back at the horse. Why else would a Rohan horse be deep within Fangorn Forest?  
  
"Then where is the Elf?" Gimli asked, trying not to think of what Aragorn meant by a rope through his friends feet. "If this is the horse that he took, then where is he?" the own puzzlement mixed with that of his fear for Legolas and his hate towards the Orcs, making his questioning more of a strong demand then that one would ask a friend.  
  
With his own emotions in an instable order, Aragorn took the dwarf's words to heart and, jumping in to defend himself, said, "I do not know everything Gimli, maybe you could look for yourself! I do not know everything!"  
  
"Yet you seem to know more of what you are doing here-" Gimli said in attempt of his own defense. When it came to the ways of tracking anything, especially an Elf, he would gladly announce Aragorn the better of them. And so he tried to say so only to be once again interrupted by an angry human.  
  
"I did not want this, Gimli!" Aragorn almost shouted. Deep down he knew that it was not the dwarf's fault, that the things that he was saying were not even on the same subject and that Gimli did not deserve the words so harshly thrown at him, but he needed to say them, to get them out of his head and stop them gripping at his heart. "I did not want to lead this fellowship! Do you think that I like the fact that Boromir died for me? Or that insane notion of sending the one with the Ring off to Mordor alone. I know that this is all my fault, I know that if Legolas dies it is on me! ME! It's my fault!" placing his head in his hands, Aragorn already regretted what he had said and was already composing an apology.  
  
Gimli, who had seen what was going on in the Ranger's mind, had let him yell, let him get whatever he needed out and, taking a step towards the man to console him, was cut off before he could say anything.  
  
"Hoom, and Elf you say?" a voice called, deep and slow compared to the raised, arguing tones of the human and dwarf. Spinning and drawing his sword in one fluent motion, Aragorn's eyes darted through the dark wood behind him, searching for the owner of the loud words. Seeing nothing, he sent a quick look behind him to see Gimli also staring in the same direction, axe at the ready and fear upon his face. The alarm was a slight encouragement to the Ranger as it meant that the dwarf had heard it as well and that he was not hearing voice within his head.  
  
Gulping, Aragorn scanned the woods once again and, just like the last time, found nothing that would be capable of speech. "Show yourself!" Aragorn demanded whilst tightening his hands around the leather strapped hilt of his sword.  
  
"Hrum, Hoom," the voice sounded again and Aragorn thought it almost like the sound of a deep, throaty laughter. "I am already shown, little fellow." The voice sounded old, like that of a wizened old man; one who had seen the world and the changes that had come about and was in constant longing for the better days of old.  
  
A rise of anger at what the human thought an obvious defiance clouded his mind and, speaking quickly Aragorn countered the last comment. "I call your bluff," he said boldly, "for I see no person before me. So come out of the shadow before I pull you out!" He could feel Gimli tense behind him, obviously ready for whatever was to come and faintly he heard the dwarf dig his foot into the ground for better stability.  
  
"Hoom, you young ones, always so hasty," the voice said calmly, almost toneless in its deep, dreary state. "But perchance you should open your eyes to more, young man, for perhaps it is no person that you seek to find."  
  
"Like talking to the damned Elves," Gimli muttered under his breath only just loud enough for Aragorn to hear, "never make any sense."  
  
"Then aid me," Aragorn said, practically daring the being to come out and seek retribution for the ill-mannered way in which he was treating him - whoever it was. "Show me what it is that I should be seeking and be over with it!" He almost did not care anymore; he had given up hope or more so, it had fleeted from him. Gandalf had fallen into Shadow, Boromir into darkness in his name and stead, and the Ring bearer was now alone save for his friend and marching boldly in the direction of Mordor. The two hobbits that they had tracked were now on there way to Edoras, being held as a bond to Aragorn's own word and Legolas was lost to them, both in body and spirit. What was left? Who had he not failed through his inadequate attempts at leading?  
  
A deep, throaty almost groan sounded around the small clearing and was then quickly followed by another "Hrum, Hoom." After a few moments of tense silence and stillness, Aragorn let out a defeated sigh, ready to admit out loud that there was no hope to be found; ready to say what his mind and heart had been telling him since that fateful dream of Legolas, the dream that had been their last.  
  
"Perchance," the voice once again sounded, unexpected and without warning, "this may help you in seeing what it is that you must see." After the cryptic clue there was a loud creaking sound, like a heavy man walking across bowed floorboards of an ill-kept inn and a rustling akin to that of wind through long grass.  
  
Not sure where to really be looking, both Aragorn and Gimli scoured the woods before them with hawk like eyes, still seeing naught of importance.  
  
Honing his senses in more to the right, Aragorn was the first one to see what it was that, until now, they had been looking right at and yet not heeding. "Ed an Valar aen Elenath or!" Aragorn swore under his breath as he saw the thick base of the foremost tree lift as if it were a giant's foot. Taking a step back, he bumped into a just as astonished Gimli who was also cursing colourfully in his own tongue.  
  
Both peered up at the suddenly alive tree with divulged horror as the half man-like, half troll-like figure moved forward and further into the clearing, its large yellow eyes blinking open in the bark-like skin of what could only be thought a face due to its placing. Slowly, as the tree being came further into animation, Aragorn and Gimli could see that its face had a beard of vines, mosses and leaves, covering what must have been a mouth and a large, barky nose. Thick boughs stood out from the rest of the tangled branches, obviously acting as what would be arms to the tree- creature while its thick base, on closer inspection, was actually divided in two, creating legs and the ability to move as any walking creature.  
  
"What devilry is this?" Gimli hissed to Aragorn's back, his hand tightening about his axe handle to the point of the blood draining from his knuckles within his gloves. As the tree stepped closer to the two, the two travellers took another step back which was to the great amusement of the tree.  
  
"It is an Ent!" Aragorn stated with a slight hint of wonder in his voice while finally stopping his backward steps. He had long heard tales of them; in fact, they had been one of his constant favourite subjects for stories; especially from Gandalf whom seemed to know so much about the beings. Though, through all his childhood stories and love for the great creatures, he had thought that they had all but disappeared from the earth ages ago, leaving behind only just the few tales that he knew almost by heart. To actually see one was amazing, almost a revelation in what he thought was steadily becoming a lost cause.  
  
"Hoom, hoom," the Ent said again, surly its favourite words. "Treebeard is my name and you are right, young one, but it should not be so. Is it not disturbing that you know me now from sight but did not from memory and knowledge or even faith when I was hidden? And lower your axe, Master Dwarf; you have no need for it in my forest!"  
  
The question came as a shock to the Ranger, not really understanding what the herder of the forest was trying to tell him with his enigmatic message and just as Gimli lowered his axe to the ground, Aragorn sheathed his sword, not thinking on the action. Why had he not thought of an Ent before? Was he becoming so blind to the world and the Valars' children that he could not even recall past memories of once powerful and plentiful creatures?  
  
Feeling the overwhelming cluster of thoughts assail his mind, Aragorn concentrated on grabbing a hold of one. Legolas. Clinging to that thought as if it were a piece of smashed ship on a storm-tossed sea, Aragorn turned his eyes back up to the Ent, his question already spilling out from between his lips.  
  
"Y-you asked us about the Elf that we spoke of," Aragorn prompted the Ent, wanting the answers to the main question plaguing his mind. "Have you seen him?"  
  
"Hoom, an Elf," Treebeard mused, his eyes looking thoughtful in their shiny yellow state. "What would you be wanting with one of their kind; a human and a dwarf?"  
  
Looking quickly to Gimli who was still staring at the talking tree in disbelief, Aragorn pushed his lips together and took a slight step forward; wanting to show the Ent that not only was he not afraid but that he also meant no harm. After all, the tree herder would feel inclined to protect Legolas from any harm, he being of the Elven kind and the Woodland one at that.  
  
"Legolas is a dear friend of mine-ours," he corrected himself at the husky huff from Gimli. Offering his dwarven companion an apologetic smile, Aragorn went on, "he was taken from us by a band of Orcs and we have been tracking him ever since. We believe that he rode here on that horse over yonder," he motioned over to the blood streaked horse that stood at the edge of the clearing, watching all with dark eyes as if it could comprehend every word. "But the tracks come to an end here." His voice was pleading, begging the Ent for any knowledge that he may have on their lost friend as he stared up into the large eyes.  
  
"Hoom, interesting. Interesting indeed," Treebeard stated with another thoughtful look down at the man.  
  
"Well?" Gimli demanded, taking a step forward and around his human counterpart, "have you seen him or not?"  
  
"Perhaps," Treebeard said slowly and leisurely, "and perhaps not." His last statement drew a boisterous grunt from the dwarf and a sigh of annoyance from the human. They did not have time for this; Legolas needed them with him, not talking in riddles with a tree. "What did he look like?"  
  
"What do you mean, 'what did he look like'?" Gimli asked, his impatience getting the better of him, "just how many Elves have you seen tramping around this forest lately?"  
  
"Gimli!" Aragorn hissed, silencing any further comments from the dwarf with a shove that once again placed the smaller being behind him. "I do apologize," the Ranger said with a slight bow, "is has just been a tiring journey for both of us. As to Legolas' appearance, he is tall, my height give or take, blue eyes and blond hair. I-" his voice trailed off suddenly as a flash of his friend wounded and bleeding passed in front of his eyes. He had not been able to rid himself of that vision since that last fateful dream that the two had shared and, to his horror, it had been forever present as soon as he closed his eyes, sometimes even when they were open. It was as if it had been burnt into his memory, a constant reminder of the painful consequences that others paid for his incompetence.  
  
Shaking his head clear, he looked up to the Ent who was looking down on him with questions displayed rather clearly ion his wooden face. "He," once again pausing, he expelled a deep breath through rounded lips, mentally preparing himself for what he would have to say. "He would have been tormented," he said quietly while avoiding eye contact with Treebeard, "he is bound to be in bad shape. I saw him, in a dream, and I hardly recognized him - he had been badly beaten, mistreated in a way that one ever should be-"  
  
"Hoom Hrum. A sad tale. A sad tale indeed." Treebeard concluded after Aragorn had once again faulted in his speech. Seeing no reason not to trust the two that stood below him with his newest charge, the Ent decided to put their obviously worried minds at ease. "And I guess it is a good thing that I have seen this friend that you speak of!"  
  
Two pares of downcast eyes snapped up at the same time, both looking hopefully at the face of the Ent. Taking another step forward, a smile passed over Aragorn's face for the second time that day as he felt hope rekindling within his heart. "You have seen him?" his voice was no more then an exhale of breath, the air forming words as they passed his lips.  
  
"Aye, indeed I have," Treebeard said with what looked to be a smile of his own, "and I have more then just seen him." At the confusion that showed on both his visitors faces' he took a large step back and offered them another warm smile.  
  
As they watched, a large cluster of branches that had been tangled behind the Ent throughout their conversation started to move towards them as if they had a mind of their own. Leafy branches moved up to the others, forming a solid cocoon as the previous ones, in turn, opened up as if something was being gently passed forward between them. The process took a few minutes, each fleeting moment adding to the joint excitement, hope and wonder that Aragorn and Gimli felt.  
  
Finial, as the lowest branches closed into a tight crib-like structure and the others above receded, Treebeard took a smaller step forward, holding the cradle out for the two to look at. The top was covered in smaller, leafy twigs and fresh, green sprigs, forming a sort of blanket over what was held within the padded nest of leaves and branches. Though, through all this wonder and display of a long thought lost creature's power, Aragorn, who was the only one tall enough to see into the nest, had eyes only for one thing.  
  
There, surrounded in the tree's greenery was Legolas, looking like a fallen, defeated angel with his golden hair sprayed out about his head and over the leaves. He was lying flat on his back, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes closed, most unnatural for the Elven kind and, for a terrifying moment, the supine state of the Elf added fuel to Aragorn's dark thoughts telling him of the prince's death. Yet, upon closer inspection, Aragorn let out a great sigh of relief as he saw his friend's chest steadily moving up and down.  
  
"What is it?" Gimli demanded, trying to volt himself high enough up on his axe so that he could see into the little nest.  
  
A large smile crept over the human's face as he looked down upon his slumbering friend, and, without taking his eyes of the Elf, said to Gimli, "it is Legolas. He is alive!"  
  
As his eyes traveled up and down the still form of his greatest friend, terror once again took hold of Aragorn's heart at just how close Legolas was to leaving the world. The sight of his friend like that was, without a doubt, one of the worst that he had ever seen and ever would lay witness to.  
  
What he could see of Legolas' face through the blood, dirt and grime that covered it like dust did to most of the lore books in Elrond's library, was pale and drawn while hardly a fingers width was left unmarked from the angry blue-black bruises. The Elf's eyes were sunken, dark crescent moons lying under them, their reason something Aragorn could not tell; bruise or lack of rest - or maybe even both. From the rasping way that Legolas drew in his breath, the healer in the Ranger could already tell that there was severe damage to the Elf's chest and stomach and multiple broken ribs was assured. Legolas' wrist were covered in dried blood, the aftermath of bonds being too tight or struggling with the Orc's coarse rope, and what little of the prince's arms Aragorn could see through the almost shredded tunic where akin to his face, bruised and bloodied. A large crimson patch stained his right shoulder and the once golden hair that fell behind his ear, and, it was by following the trail of blood up the golden strands that Aragorn found the cause.  
  
"By the Valar!" he said softly while leaning forward to look at the mutilated Elven ear. The point had been loped clean off, the wound gone untreated, the blood allowed to flow and once again Aragorn felt a blinding rage build up inside of him at the sight of his mistreated friend.  
  
"What is it?" Gimli once again demanded, curing his races lack of height for the very first time. "What is wrong?" Yet he was to get no answer as Aragorn continued to look over the Elf he valued more then his own life.  
  
There were ugly welts covering the Elf's chest and shoulders and, from what he knew of Orc's, probably the rest of the prince's body. A festering, inflamed wound was clearly seen in his shoulder, the skin re-torn and the blood dried, the doings of an arrow no doubt. The rest of the Elf was blanketed from his sight by the green leaves of the quiet Ent and, in a way, Aragorn was glad for he thought that he could not handle any further sightings of the beaten prince that lay before him just yet.  
  
Stretching a trembling hand out, Aragorn let his fingers brush gently against the Elf's bruised and bloodied brow. "Legolas?" he whispered the name as if for the first time, seeing if it fit its namesake, while toying with a strand of his friend's hair. "Legolas, my friend, can you hear me?" his voice was quiet, comforting and as gentle as the feather light touches that he trailed over the Elf's pale skin.  
  
Unbeknownst to him, tears had welled in his eyes from the moment that he had seen the Elf, and it was not until the first one parted from his cheek and splashed onto a dirt smeared brow that he noticed his own weeping. The tear seemed to stay in the place of its fall for a moment, as if deciding where to go before making a muddy trail through the Elf's eyebrow and into the hollow of his right eye.  
  
The gentle trickling seemed to irritate the Elf who, in his sleep, wrinkled his nose and tried to burrow closer into the surrounding trees.  
  
Letting out a happy half-gasp, half intake of air, Aragorn lent further over, his right index finger tracing the line the tear had just made across the Elf's brow. Stopping at the dark eyebrow, he changed his path and smoothed the small hairs down, running his finger tenderly over the high cheek bone and back down the Elf's face.  
  
"Legolas?" he asked again, three more droplets of water falling upon the prince's brow and nose as he spoke.  
  
Once again Legolas squirmed away from the strange tickling feeling that was upon his face, this time adding a little quiet, throaty whimper to his attempt. It was strange, he could have almost sworn that he could hear Aragorn calling to him through the strange darkness that seemed to cloud his senses and thoughts. And yet, that was impossible, was it not?  
  
"Legolas, wake up, please?" it was Aragorn's voice again, and once more he felt a soothing movement about his cheek and a strange liquid running down his face. . .just blood, he told himself as he moved even further into the warm place that he had found himself in.  
  
Watching the Elf wriggle away, Aragorn could not help but smile at his friend. Even after all this quest had put him through, all that the Orcs had done to him, he still seemed to maintain that element of innocence that none other could possibly hope to possess.  
  
Cupping the Elf's cheek in his hand, Aragorn gently rubbed some of the dirt away from under Legolas' right eye. "Open your eyes, Legolas!" he commanded softly and lightly, nothing but kindness in his tone. The Elf seemed to lean into his soothing touch and, as he watched, Aragorn could see Legolas' eyelids fluttering slightly.  
  
It took a few moments, but soon Legolas willed his heavy eyes to start to open, wanting to believe that Aragorn really was there and that it was not just a hopeful dream. Wrinkling up his face slightly and nuzzling into the touch that he was sure would disappear once he did; Legolas forced his eyes open once and for all.  
  
Aragorn watched intently as Legolas screwed up his face once again and Aragorn would have given anything to know what was going thoughts the Elf's mind at that point in time. Gazing intently at Legolas' fluttering eyelashes, he was almost stunned when the pale lids lifted and revealed a pair of ice-blue orbs, locked directly onto his.  
  
There, leaning over him, was the only human that he ever wanted to see at such close proximity. Aragorn had tears running down his face, his storm- grey eyes flicked bloodshot while filled with unshed drops of sadness and his lips lifted in a small smile.  
  
"Estel?"  
  
*****  
  
Tbc. . .  
  
Timeline for Chapter Nine  
  
29 - early morning.  
  
Frodo and Sam meet up with Gollum who tells them of the path through the mists.  
  
29 - midday.  
  
Some of Éomer's men ride back and find Merry and Pippin. They take them with them and send a message of it to Éomer.  
  
30 - day.  
  
Éomer, meets with Aragorn. Horses lent to Aragorn while Merry and Pippin stand to be a way of insurance.  
  
30 - late afternoon.  
  
Aragorn finds Legolas with help of Treebeard.  
  
  
  
Well, there it is -was - whatever. I hope you all liked it and it was worth the wait that I so cruelly put you through. Once again I do apologize for the rather lengthy gap between updates and I will try my hardest to make sure that it does not happen again.  
  
Umm, I really didn't know what to do with Aragorn's finding of Legolas, so I improvised the whole thing - hope it had the emotional impact that I was aiming for.  
  
Anyway, I shall see you on the next update which, all going to plan, should introduce a further nine to ten key characters - bet ya can't work them all out! Lol.  
  
Minka. 


	10. Broken

Haha!  I am back – well, id didn't really go anywhere, but I did not know how to open this chapter.

PEOPLE!!!!  I can not stress this enough, DO NOT GIVE UP ON THIS STORY!!!  Due to real life, school and annoying as hell ideas for other stories it is going to take me awhile to get the chapters up.  BUT I AM NOT GOING TO STOP WRITING IT!  As some of you may know, I have been working on this for AGES!!  It is just that with the length and the amount of detail that I like to get in there, it takes me longer then most other chapters of my stories.  So please, bear with me and my incredibly slow updates – I promise that you shall not be let down!  I am very sorry for the long wait, but I am afraid that there is nothing that I can really do about it.  I have over 60 pieces of assessments due this year so I am literally swimming in school work – but soon that shall all be over.  I get through this year and then I have months to update at your demand!  Lol.

**

CHAPTER NOTES:

Ok, I did a slightly weird thing with this chapter (you will see it when you come to it) but it just seemed right for this particular time in the story.  I mean, everything is falling apart for everyone and so I think it kinda works.  Also, I had great trouble with the Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli parts, so, in the mean time, I started stirring up trouble EVERYWHERE else!  Lol.  The happenings at Edoras do not follow the books or movie.  I have done this as, even though the story is AU, I am finding that a lot is sticking to the books/movie – especially the Frodo, Sam and Gollum bits – so I have decided to strike up a little trouble in the Golden Halls solely for my amusement... 

This chapter follows in right after the last so there is not much of a time line either.  In fact, this chapter and the next will all be on the same night as I got bored with Aragorn and Legolas, so Aragorn will have his 'flip out over Legolas' condition' next chapter.  I also did not do Gimli's reaction as the whole thing is getting rather redundant!  That will happen next chapter...

DEDICATION: to Gemstone, who seemed to be seriously fretting over this...thank you for the constant kicks up the ass – I hope that this offers you a little bit of stress relief and to goblz for all your pushing that I really needed!  Lol.

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed thus far.  I appreciate it more then you could ever know and more so then I could even try to put into words.  Thank you for you comments, support and suggestions.

Hope you enjoy.

*****

**Shadows Within; Darkness Without**

**By: Minka**

**Part Two: The Forces that Bind Us**

**Chapter Ten: Broken**

*****  

Éowyn flattened herself to the wall, her back pressed as close to the cold stone as she could manage.  From the throne room she could hear the hissing of Gríma's voice, speaking words too low for her to make out the actual meaning but she knew that they would be treacherous nonetheless.  

It seemed as though her life had become a constant game of cat and mouse; avoid the hunter, and as much as she hated and despised the fact, she could not bring herself to do otherwise.  Weakness, that was what it was, a show of the feeling that she so hated to possess.  She had always thought herself tough, strong, able to withstand all that life dealt her without having to run to some warrior like a maiden in distress, but this one thing, this one person, brought about the destruction of all that she believed in.

At nights her dreams would be haunted, filled with a darkness and sense of despair that seemed to linger well into the daylight hours.  These feelings did naught but remain and intensify until the darkness claimed her again.  She would see his face, leering down at her in her dreams, his eerie eyes the colour of a snakes, his forked tongue slivering over his parched lips as he spread his lies.   

That person was Gríma Wormtongue; a curse and plague upon the house of Théoden.  

Long had he walked the passages of Edoras, his words spilling forth and polluting the minds of most that heard them, none more so then the king himself, and since the very first day that he had arrived, Éowyn had felt nothing but unease around him.  

He seemed to excrete a sense of foreboding, of evil and one look from his almost yellow-tinged eyes was enough to send shivers up her spine.  The way he would watch her, his face lowered and his eyes looking up through his thinning lashes and overhanging brow made her want to run; need to run and lock herself away someplace safe where he could not find her and where the haunting visions of his menacing face would not follow.  

It was as if he were everything and everywhere.  The lanterns held his eyes, the walls his ears; he could see all and he knew all.  Even the whispered conversations she held with he brother in the dark corner of his chambers came to his ears.  Nowhere was safe from his scrutiny or his earshot.  

Hearing the voices from the next room cease, Éowyn bit her lower lip and made her way cautiously into the throne room of her uncle.  

He sat there, as always, a drawn, pale shell of what he once was.  His eyes were a glazed over blue, as if he were a corpse, and the rest of his body's appearance seemed to agree upon that fact.  Hair that was once brown hung limply about his face, now as white as fresh snow and almost identical to the colour of his pale skin.  His hands quivered and shook as he sat there, the thin fingers resting in his lap and folded about each other in a mocking form of comfort and rest.

Resolve fully in place, Éowyn walked forward, her appearance telling that she was on a mission.  Slowly weaving her way through the large stone pillars that lined both sides of the room, she was not even within the main walkway before she heard a sound.  One that made her stop dead in her tracks.  

A footstep; slow and meaningful; silent yet deadly.  That of a hunter stalking his prey.  Knowing that the one it hunted was sprung, a second followed, this time almost seeming smug in the way that the foot hit the floor with a deliberate scuffle.  

"So when the cat disappears the mouse comes out to play!" a sly voice said from behind her, making the tiny hairs on the back of her neck prickle and stand on end.  The tone was so cold that Éowyn had often thought it could freeze running water or douse fire with but a whispered word.  

"Gríma," Éowyn said with as much of a balanced tone as possible.  Not moving, she could feel and hear the man as he walked around behind her, his steps ringing about the room like a bell in a watchtower.  His eyes swept over her like a searching light, looking deep within to her soul and thoughts.  

It was as if she were a marooned sailor and he a shark, circling in slowly, always waiting for the correct second to strike and for a moment she felt that dark cage close in around her, the door locking shut as the light was purged from her sight.  

It was this way with him every time.  Every time that he came into her world his very presence seemed to thrash the light into submission.  The formed darkness clouded her thoughts and judgments with a claustrophobic feeling that blocked her senses and impound her heart.  

Gríma took a step closer to her, his eyes almost flashing as they swept her up and down in a hungry fashion.  

As hungry as a famished wolf.  

"And what are you doing so far from your rooms at this time, my lady?  It is not safe for you to be unattended in such times." Gríma spoke, his voice heavily laden with a cunning undertone.  He did not care for her safety, only the fact that she was now caught; trapped like a fly in a spider's web.  "You should not be alone."

The last words seemed to linger in the air, reverberating off the walls in an endless flow destined to push the lady over the edge.  _Alone...alone...alone...alone._  The very atmosphere seemed to chant the words that she so feared, that she knew was her one weakness and vulnerability.   Théoden was no longer with them, his mind completely conquered by darkness, Théodred walking the paths of his forefathers already, killed by the hands of one once thought friend and ally.  Éomer was gone, even if only for a short time; off fighting Orcs with the threat of punishment hanging over his head for his disobedience.  

_Alone.__  Alone.  Alone.  Alone._

Casing such thoughts from her head and battling to convince herself that it was all folly, Éowyn focused her mind on the first half of Gríma's statement, pretending as if the last did not exist.  

"'Tis none of your business what I do and what I do not," Éowyn spat in contempt, "not at night, not in the day."  Glaring at the man that returned her gazed with just as much inner strength, Éowyn sucked in a deep breath and took that last step that remained between them.  Bringing her face in line with his, she forced all emotion from her face save the hate that she felt towards the man while summoning up every ounce of courage that she had within her.  Then, in a silent, deadly tone, she hissed; "Now, be gone!  Slither back into the dark hole from whence you came and cursed us with your presence."

"My, my," Gríma smiled at her, completely undaunted by the harsh remark and obvious dismissal.  "Are we not the fiery one, my lady?"  Reaching down, his talon like fingers encircled Éowyn's upper arm.   The fear that stirred within the lady of Rohan was equal to that she would have felt had he thrown her into a cell, locking the door behind her and leaving her to the darkness and stone of the imprisonment.  

"So cold," Gríma whispered while pulling the lady closer, his eyes forever roaming over the golden hair and slender shoulders.  "So hostile.  It is unbecoming of you, lady."  

Swallowing down the quickly increasing panic that had taken the form of a solid lump in her throat, Éowyn never once let her eyes drop from the others gaze in fear of betraying the terror that she hid so well.  "I save my hostility for those that duly deserve it.  Now, unhand me!"

As soon as it became apparent that Gríma had no intention to do as she asked, Éowyn forcefully ripped her arm from his grasp, ignoring the flush of pain that swept across the bruised skin as his finger tips attempted to keep their hold.  Recoiling backwards, Éowyn fixed her glare on the man once more, her eyes like fire with her blatant hate and loathing.

"When I say to unhand me, you are to do so," she commanded while taking yet another step back, not willing to allow herself to be caught again.  "You are not to touch me," she spat, "I do not wish to feel your vile skin upon mine.  Things are going to change Gríma; I know it, so go back to skulking in your putrid darkness and evil while still you can."

Holding her head high, Éowyn turned on her heels, the folds of her dress swirling around her like a tide to the shoreline as the long, flowing sleeves flapped in the movement created breeze.  Feeling eyes locked onto her back the entire time, Éowyn concentrated on making it out of the hall without a fault or blunder.

Hurrying through the barely lit corridors of the Golden Hall, the Éowyn seemed to pass as a mere shadow, her cream coloured dress darkened by the flickering of the sparse candles that sat within the glass lanterns.  She appeared to be a proud lady; a strong and resolute Shield Maiden of the Horse Lords who feared nothing and answered to no one.  

But the dull light of the candles concealed the truth; the shaking hands that clenched and unclenched at her sides, the haunted look that played upon her features and danced within her eyes and the single, solitary tear that slid gracefully down her right cheek.  

The first signs of the cracks had begun to show through; the first signs that said that finally, after all her struggles, she was being broken.  

*****
    
    **_"I wanna heal, I wanna feel_**
    
    **_What I thought was never real_**
    
    **_I wanna let go of the pain I felt so long_**
    
    **_(Erase all the pain 'til it's gone)"_**
    
    *****

"Estel?"

Letting out a small relieved laugh, Aragorn looked down at the large blue eyes that stared up at him in a mixture of hope and disbelief.  

"Yes, Legolas, it is I!"

A smile broke over the Elf's pained face at Aragorn's words, his eyes showing a light that had not yet been fully extinguished.  Extending his hand out towards the human's face, Legolas half expected to touch only air; to see Aragorn's form distort and disappear as it had done countless other times when he woke.  He was only half aware of his position, his mind refusing to work at any great speed through the pain that seemed to cloud his every thought and, as his hand moved towards what he knew not to be real, he was not at all shocked to see it covered in blood while trembling like a leaf in the Fall breezes.  

Prepared for the heart-wrenching disappointment that he would feel when the face above him vanished, Legolas found himself letting out an involuntary gasp as his hand brushed against the rough surface of Aragorn's jaw.  

"När le ú-I nwalca olórë?" Legolas whispered in awe as his fingers roamed over Aragorn's face, taking in the feel of the rough skin against his.  He trailed up the man's jaw to his ear before creeping over the nose and allowing his hand to drop to the corner of the man's smiling mouth.  "Le när anwa?"

Reaching out and taking the wandering hand in both his own, Aragorn smiled gently down at the Elf, his eyes locked onto Legolas'.  "Aye, mellon nin."  Aragorn said while hugging the hand to his face, his cheek pressed against the pale knuckles of the Elf.  "I am no dream.  I am here now."

Legolas let out a small hiccup-sob as realization finally set in.  Aragorn was there, he was not about to vanish on him as he had so many other times in his dreams.   He would not disperse into the darkness of his thoughts to remain a mere shadowy impression upon his mind.  

"I am here too!" a gruff voice boomed from out of Legolas' vision.

Recognizing it immediately, yet another smile spread across the Elf's face as he strained to see the short being.  

"Gimli?" the Elf called out with a slight laugh, "how do you fare, my friend?"

"Suffering from a slight height disability, but nothing too serious," the dwarf joked while pulling on Aragorn's sleeve and standing on his tip toes, trying to see over the branches.  

He had been trying to make the Elf laugh; laugh as he once had under the cooling shade of golden trees and his efforts were well rewarded when a soft, harmonic chuckle floated upon the breeze to greet his ears.   Granted that his attempt had worked, the laugh seemed forced, fake and almost uncertain.   The voice was no longer as sweet sounding as it had once been – though he would never admit to anyone out loud that it had been sweet in the first place – and there seemed to be little or no mirth behind the soft sound.  

It aggravated him that he could still not see his companion, but he knew that he would get his turn to greet he Elf in due time.  At the moment, it was for Aragorn to see that he was all right.

"Gimli, my friend, have you ever considered that it may be we who suffer from height disability," Legolas inquired with a small smirk to Aragorn.  "Perhaps it is us who are too tall."

"I have been saying that for years!" Gimli jested back with his own laugh, glad that his friend could still hold to their friendly banter.  

"Greetings little one," a deep yet surprisingly quiet voice spoke from above the Elf.  Startled, Legolas half jumped where he lay while gripping Aragorn's hand so tight that the human gasped in pain and shock.  

Twisting quickly in his position, Legolas turned huge, worry filled eyes up to the origin of the voice, only to let out his own gasp before his face turned to a look of wonder.  Still gripping Aragorn's hand, the Elf started up at the large yellow eyes that looked down of him; eyes that were part of a tree.  

"A Onodrim!" he exclaimed, his voice full of the marvel that shone so clearly in his eyes.  As if in a state of shock, Legolas looked quickly from Aragorn, to the yellow eyes, to the place where he lay and back to Aragorn, each time trying to form words but failing miserably.   Finally settling for looking up at the Ent with sparkling eyes, Legolas rose his arm, intending to touch the barky face of the creature that cradled him.

A cheery grin spread right across Treebeard's face as he looked down on the awe struck Elf and, extending a young, re-sprouting shoot, he wrapped it lightly around the Elf's proffered arm and gave it a light shake.

"Treebeard," he said as a way of introduction, "and you, I assume, are Legolas."

Nodding mutely, Legolas ran his thumb over the growing leaf that rested in the palm of his hand, not wanting to let go of such a marvel so soon.  

The leaf was new, just growing and still curled at the edges.  Life seemed to pump through it; the tiny veins within the leaf seemed to glitter with the energy that it required.  It was a sight unlike any other that Legolas had ever seen; nothing like the normal formation of a leaf or plant and for a moment he found himself wondering that, if he held onto it tightly enough, if he could become one with the little leaf – share in its energy and life force.  

"Long have I desired to look upon the Tree Herders sung about in the tales of old," Legolas breathed out, casting another quick look up at the Ent's face before once again turning his attention to the pure green leaf.  "I believed you to be a myth!  None have seen or heard a trace of your kind for many centuries!" 

"Hoom Hrum!"  Treebeard seemed to laugh to himself at the obvious wonder that coated the young Elf's voice.  "We are here, I assure you, little one." He said kindly, his eyes never once breaking contact with Legolas', who was now gazing up at him intently.  "We are just not as numerous as we once were."

Seeing that the idea of such mystical creatures dwindling obviously upset Legolas, Aragorn thought it best to interfere.  After all, the last thing that the Elf needed now was to be overcome with any more worrisome thoughts.  

"Treebeard," he drew the Ent's attention to himself while giving Legolas' hand a tight squeeze.  "Is there some place were I may take our wide-eyed friend here to clean up and treat his wounds?"  

Thinking on the question for a moment, Treebeard eventually crooked his leafy head to the left.  "There is a nice little stream only a few minutes walk that way."

Bowing his head in thanks, Aragorn offered Legolas as much of a cheery smile as he could bring himself to form.  "Come on," he said softly as he pulled Legolas' arm around his neck.  Slipping an arm in behind Legolas' back, he carefully felt for a place where the skin was not too badly broken; a horrifying task if he ever knew one, and at the same time pushed his other arm through the covering of leaves and tucked it in under Legolas' knees.

"Aragorn, really, I am fine to move myself..." 

Not even replying Aragorn pulled the Elf against his chest and then into the air, freeing him of the enclosure of leaves and branches.  Legolas' obvious lack of weight did not go unnoticed to the human who, not for the first time that night, wished that the Orcs had not already been killed by a hand other then his own.  

As he was lifted out of the tree, Legolas suddenly felt vulnerable, open; unprotected.  Many times he had thought on this moment, that fleeting second in time when he would be able to succeed in horrifying everyone that he had ever cared about with merely the sight of him.   He could feel Gimli's horror radiating off him, feel the well hidden shiver of pity that jolted Aragorn as the ranger pulled him out into view.  It made the Elf fell hideous and deformed.  A scourge to all that Elves stood for and were.  

_"No Elf, prince or no, defeats me, especially one that is no longer one in appearance or thoughts."___

Pressing his lips together till all the blood drained from the parched skin, Legolas tucked his head under Aragorn's chin, burying his shame in the hair and collar of the person whose opinion mattered the most.  

Trying not to pay too much attention to the wounds that covered his dear friend's body, Aragorn held him tightly to his chest as one would a precious object.  He could only imagine what was running through the prince's head and, what he could fathom was truly horrible.  

He knew Legolas; better then most he would think, and that meant that he knew how his friend would react to his current situation.  He would close himself off, claiming that he was fine and that all was well with the world.  

The prince was an excellent liar when the time called for it – though he would never use it for a less then honorable purpose.  He used it as a barrier, a way in which to protect himself from others and his own inner turmoil.  He was that good that Aragorn often wondered if Legolas managed to lie to himself, to convince his heart and mind that nothing was wrong.  

The ranger could feel Gimli's eyes locked onto Legolas, his horror evident.  Knowing that the stout being was about to say something regarding the Elf's condition, Aragorn shot him a hard glare over Legolas' bowed head, warning him to keep his thoughts to himself for the time being.  

"Gimli," Aragorn stated, looking down at his friend as meaningful as he could, insuring that the dwarf received the hint.  "Would you be so kind as to pass me my pack?"

Taking Aragorn's meaning, Gimli reached down and picked up the discarded bag, handing it up to the ranger who hooked it over his hand.  

Nodding knowingly, Gimli looked up at the Ent that stood perfectly still and then back to Aragorn.  

"I shall make camp here for the night," he declared whilst banding down ad picking up a random stick to prove his point.  

Offering his dwarven friend a small smile of thanks, Aragorn set off in the direction that Treebeard had indicated, his silent friend held tightly and protectively in his arms.  

*****

The waters of the Onodlo gushed along its course, the noise of the river like that of a gathering of garrulous people, each straining to talk over the top of the other.

Legolas sat patiently on a submerged rock which Aragorn had placed him upon.  The rock stood in a smaller offset of the river, a place where the waters were calmer and the bubbly noise one that allowed the Elf's mind to wander.  The water was cool and yet not to the extent of the Entwash and, while being knee deep when standing, it was also wide, forming more of a brook then a stream.  

Patches of moonlight streamed in through the forest, creating beams akin to those of the rays of the sun as her golden light played upon mist.   The small glow that the moon provided dance on the dark green of the surrounding forest, illumining certain leaves and aspect of the woods in a way that made it seem as if it were alive.  Further downstream at the place where the stream met the main body of the river, droplets of water flew up into the air as the rivulet hit a maze of rocks, the globules sparkling like stars as they caught the light in midair.  The banks sloped down gradually into the outlet, the twisted roots of the surrounding trees dipping into the waters and providing easy access into the brook.  

Unheeding of the beauty around him, Legolas rubbed gently at his arms, splashing water up onto the marred skin in a feeble attempt to get himself clean.  

The water ran red with blood, the strange colour snaking its way through the slowly moving current whilst being carried further downstream.   It was a strong contrast; the transparent blue and the watery crimson that Legolas could not help but stare at in some strange form of wonder.  It seemed to reflect him and how he felt.  Watered down, weak, transparent and broken.   Defeated. 

Sighing slightly, he heard the soft rush of water as Aragorn re-entered the stream, holding onto the twisted roots that snaked their way out of the muddy banks to aid in his entrance.   Looking up, Legolas offered the human his best smile of confidence and strength, but, judging from the flittering worry that was obvious in the ranger's eyes, Legolas knew that he had not fooled his friend as he could so many others. 

In all his long years there had never been anyone that could see so clearly through him; as if he were made of water.  It was both infuriating and comforting at the same time and yet, deep down, Legolas knew that he would have it no other way.  Let Aragorn be able to see his weaknesses – at least he knew that he could trust the man.  

Yet at the same time he did not want the human to be able to see inside of him.  Not now, not this time.  It was different this time, much different.  

What would he think?  How could Legolas look at Aragorn – Estel who he had rocked in his arms as a small child – how could he possibly look at him the same after all this.  He had been defenseless, weak and needed to be rescued by a human and a dwarf!  He was the crowned Prince of Mirkwood, royalty in his own right and what's more, an Elf.  He was one of the first born, a favored child of the gods and a possessor of a light and strength unlike any other race upon the Ambar... 

...Aragorn had to carry him.  Aragorn had to stroke his face and tell him that all would be all right.  Aragorn had to give him strength...

Never in all his life had Legolas thought that he could have been so useless and the idea scared him beyond words.  What if he did not heal?  What happened then – would he stay weak, needing to depend of the charity of others to keep him alive?  

The Prince of Mirkwood brought to his knees and judged; found guilty and condemned. 

_"No Elf, prince or no, defeats me, especially one that is no longer one in appearance or thoughts."___

Those words, spoken to him in hatred and anger, would not leave his head.  Was he still an Elf?  His pride was gone, fled into the winds and most likely never to return.  His dignity had been stolen – he had been degraded to a mere play thing of creatures which had managed to triumph over him...to defeat him!

Throughout those days he had been so confused, forced into such inner turmoil that it all seemed to be a haze.  He could not for the life of him remember how long he had been there, how many nights had slowly given way to the coming of the sun and how many times the land had been swept with the darkness that he seemed to belong in.  

...a child of the light forced into the dark...to remain forever in the darkness of the crushed soul...

_'You think I did not see what goes on inside you? Your doubts, your fears and your questions of what you really are. I saw them all!...'_

Was he truly that transparent?  Had the wizard really been able to see the self-doubts that he had thought he had so expertly hidden?  Self-doubts that should not have even been there but were, far beyond him control.  

Aragorn could see through him as if he were air, so why no the wizard.  Saruman had been in his mind, had tried to take all that Legolas once loved from him.  But Legolas had pushed him out, had triumphed over the darkness that the wizard sort to fill him with.  

Or had he?  If he had been so successful in driving the betrayer out of his soul, why then did he still feel tainted?  Why did he feel that constant nibbling at the edges of his consciousness that were forever attempting to pull him back away from the light?  Back into the darkness that had now engulfed his entire world.  

He had felt at home there, safe and almost protected by the thick gloom.  He had looked forward to succumbing to the seductive pull of what he had never experienced before.  

Was it a doom that all Elves must face at one time?  Was it something that all children of light would come across?  The undying need to feel the comforting hands of the darkness enclose them once again, just one more time...and once more after that.  Just once more after that...

Or was he just different?  Was he not worthy of the light that had claimed him for its own?  Perhaps he was a child of darkness wrongly declared – maybe he should have been one of the Elves taken and twisted beyond recognition, turned into what they had all been brought up to hate; what he still hated.  

But then why did he just want to fall?  To fall into a bottomless abyss and be surrounded by anything but light and love?

_'…And I tell you now, Elf, they will be your demise.'_

"All right," Aragorn said with as much cheer as he could muster in the face of such a task.  "Let us get this over and done with, shall we."  

Forcing his dark thoughts to the back of his head, Legolas tried as hard as he could to concentrate on what Aragorn was saying and what he was about to do.  He knew it would hurt, but, in all truth, he did not care.  He had been hurt, hurt beyond belief and recognition, what were a few more jolts of pain to an already defeated being?

Peeling the torn shirt gently from Legolas' back, it took all of the future kings self control not to gasp out loud.  That was not what Legolas needed right now.  He needed Aragorn's strength, not his horror, and, as he looked down on the blood covered back, Aragorn vowed to give his friend as much of his vigor as he needed – and then some.  

Reaching down, Aragorn dipped the cloth into the cool waters of the stream and gave it a light squeeze, feeling the water run through his fingers.  Brushing Legolas' golden hair to the side so that it trailed over one shoulder, Aragorn placed the cloth near the nape of the Elf's neck.  Unsure of how to really treat such a wound, he simple wrung the water from the material, letting it trickle down Legolas' back and wash away the dried blood.  

For a moment it seemed as if Legolas had sat in the sun too long for his entire back was covered in a sheet of red.  But soon, much to Aragorn's relief, the red passed, running its course down the slender back and into the flowing waters.  It seemed to linger for some time, hovering upon the surface around them for a moment before dispersing and starting its own journey.  

Gathering more water in the cloth, Aragorn repeated the process until the deep, angry cuts and slashes became more and more apparent.  They seemed to radiate heat, a heat that Aragorn could feel without even touching the wounds.

Washing away at the lashes and cuts the best he could, he could hear the faint hisses of pain that slipped through Legolas' tightly closed mouth.  His heart bleed for his friend – Legolas did not deserve this; no one deserved to be treated as such, but least of all his kind hearted friend.  

As he stood after rinsing the cloth once again, Aragorn knew that he had to clean the wounds a little more thoroughly.  Folding the cloth over his pointer finger, Aragorn made sure that there were no ends that could dangle across the Elf's back, not wanting to cause his friend any more pain then need be.  

Reaching around Legolas' thin waist, he grabbed hold of the prince's hand, holding it tightly within his own as he  slowly and carefully started to run the cloth closer and closer to the deep cuts that crisscrossed the Elf's bare back.     

Wanting to distract his friend, Aragorn decided that this was as good a time as any to try and get Legolas to open up to him; to relieve the Elf of the worries and fears that he was currently holding in.  He may not be able to rid his friend of the pain, both physical and emotional, but he could decrease it.  

"Tell me," Aragorn said softly, thinking that the Elf would catch onto his meaning.

"Tell you what?" Legolas questioned coarsely and concisely, following is words up with another hiss.   

"Your thoughts," Aragorn replied, ignoring the harsh bite in the tone of the Elf, "your feelings.  Tell me your fears."

Staring at the steadily flowing stream of crimson that bubbled along the stream, Legolas felt that need to close himself in and to block others out set in and take a hold of his mind.

"My thoughts, feelings and even my fears are for myself only, Aragorn."  He replied without thinking, his tenor less then friendly.  

Paying no heed to his friend's obvious temper, Aragorn continued to work on the angry wounds upon the Elf's pale back.  

"Then let me tell you them," he substituted.  It was a tactic that Elrohir, his foster brother had once tricked him into and, even though he had never used it before, the human was almost sure that it would work.  

Once he said a number of things that were not correct or far too vague about the Elf's current state of mind, it was almost guaranteed that Legolas would fly into a rage and tell him how wrong he was, thus revealing all that he did not want to disclose willingly.  

"You are scared!" he stated with as much fake inner-knowledge that he could summon.  "You are afraid that I shall not help you, that I will look down on you."  Stopping what he was doing, he walked around the seated Elf and stood in front of him.  "How am I doing so far?"

The only response that he received was a lighting fast glare from the Elf, one telling him to hold his tongue and unintentionally telling him that he was on the right track.  

Crouching down in front of the Elf, Aragorn reached up and pushed a stray strand of hair behind the only ear that remained with a point.  Tilting his head to the side and looking the Elf over, he once again generalized the situation.  

"You are just so scared." Cupping the Elf's face in his hands, Aragorn lifted it by the chin, forcing eye contact with the Elf whether he liked it or not.  Continuing on, Aragorn said the words that he knew would flare up his friend's temper due to the Elf's determination to be independent.  "But I am with you, Legolas." He said strongly, trying to stress the fact that he would not let his friend down.  "I am here and I will help you!  Together we will get you through this, I promise!"  

Tearing his face from Aragorn's comforting hand's, his mind screaming at him that he did not deserve such a touch, Legolas glared up at the human with a dangerous fire in his eyes.  

"Do you not get it?" he snapped, his eyes seeming to flash with a deadly hatred that Aragorn was not entirely sure was directed completely at him.  "Why do you not understand?  *You* are here, *You* will get me through this!  Do you honestly think that is what I want to hear?"

"Legolas..." Aragorn attempted to rationalize with his poignant friend, yet not to the extent that would make Legolas stop.  This was what he had wanted, this was what he wanted Legolas to use him for; getting out his fears and anger.  Even so, it was a frightening site.  Never had he seen Legolas like this before; never seen him so completely outside himself that he would look at the world in such a prospective.  

"No, Aragorn!  You do-you can not possibly understand!  How can you?  You do not know what it is like to feel so helpless!  To feel as if you had let down not only those with you but yourself!  I betrayed myself!  Everything that I stood for they took.  They took something from me that I have always taken for granted, always thought that I would keep just due to the fact that I was an Elf!  They tore everything I loved away from me and you sit there and claim that *you* can help me!"

"I can because I am your friend!" Aragorn rebutted utterly flabbergasted, "and because I care about you!"

Blue eyes glistening with tears looked up to meet the grey of the human's.   "I do not deserve that, Aragorn.  I am tainted; ruined.  I welcomed the dark, Aragorn.  I did what no Elf ever should and relied on my suffering to attempt to bring me peace." 

Crouching down in the stream, Aragorn quickly reached for his friend's wrists, enclosing them with his hands and gently pulling them towards him.  

He was not at all shocked to hear what the Elf had said.  In fact, it seemed like the logical thing.  

Thinking back to the time when he had been younger and had asked why Elladan and Elrohir had no mother, he could recall the same words being spoken by the older of the twins.  Elladan had said that their mother had left, that she had been mistreated by Orcs and had thus fled to the Undying Lands.  He had told the young boy that Celebrian had needed to go into a place of constant light, a place where she could escape the dark that still clung to her like a wet riding cloak.  

Looking at Legolas now, his tear streaked face dropped and his eyes closed tightly, Aragorn wondered if this was in fact the end of the road for them.  

Since meeting, they had always vowed to stay by each others side, to follow the other no matter where they went and, so far they had stayed true to that pact.   There were only two places where the other could not go if one did.  Legolas could never follow Aragorn after death, not to the same place, just as Aragorn could never accompany his Elven friend to the Undying Lands.  Long had the isle of Eressëa been closed off to men, allowing only Elves in their grey boats that seemed to float through the air and not the water to enter.   

The main question was, if the time came for Legolas to leave the world, would Aragorn be able to handle it.  Or would Legolas really go?

"Legolas?" he questioned while straining his head to get a glimpse of the down turned eyes.  "Legolas, look at me."  Letting go of one slender wrist, the ranger reached forward and tilted his friends chin up, smiling down at the tear streaked face with a gentleness that reaffirmed Legolas' thoughts of his unworthiness.   "You are not ruined! You are still an Elf and you always will be no matter what happens; an Elf in mind, body and spirit.  As for letting us down, that is folly!  The hobbits are safe, the Ring bearer is on his way to Mordor and Gimli and I are here.  You did not fail us just as you did not fail yourself.  You did what you had to do to survive and to get yourself free."

Sniffing softly and fighting to hide the small hiccups of sorrow that were mounting in his throat, Legolas let his head fall forward. 

"My light is extinguished!" Legolas muttered, his head hanging low to hide his face.  "Burnt out like a low candle."

"No it is not." Reaching out to take a hold of his friend, Aragorn gently pulled the Elf's head onto his shoulder and let out an internal sign of relief when Legolas did not try to pull away.   On the contra, Legolas instead buried his head deeply into the man's shoulder and neck, hiding his face and his tightly shut eyes.  

"I can still see it," Aragorn continued, his hand idly moving over the length of Legolas' hair.  "Gimli can still see it.  You have just lost sight of it, that is all.  You just need to look for it, and it will be there; bright as ever!

"You are going to be fine, Legolas.  You are the strongest person that I know, and I know that you will get better!  But I want you to know that you are not alone in this.  You are right, I do not understand, nor do I know what it feels like but that is what I am here for!  Open up to me, tell me so that I can comprehend, and then I can help you.  I promise that you will be fine."

Head still pressed into Aragorn's neck, Legolas shook his head slightly and sadly, "How can I be fine?" he questioned, his voice almost like that of a scared and lost child, desperately seeking its mother, "How am I supposed to get my life back now?  How can I put myself back together when I am so horribly broken?" 

*****

The city was in an uproar, guards running to and fro with their arms full of weapons and armor whilst the citizens hastily aided in the fortification of the walls.  

Mordor was going to strike out at Gondor and they all knew it.

It was only a matter of days now before the forces of the Dark Lord would be upon them, his full fury and wrath tearing down the city's strong walls, his minions crawling about the buildings and land like locus in the midst of harvest.  It was be a sea, a swarm of evil that would not easily be purged or held back.  It would also be a sea of bloodshed.  The land would run red with the essence of life and, as far as they could all see, chaos and destruction would rule.    

Already people were boarding up their windows, not willing to risk the enjoyment of sunlight shining into their houses over the safety that they thought such a meager action would bring.  On the distant horizon carts and horses could be seen; the people that chose to flee hoping to start a new life in a far off land.  It seemed irreverent to them that once Gondor fell the rest of Middle-Earth would follow.  Should the Dark Lord succeed in taking Minas Tirith, would they merely move on and on, till the day would come that they were held up in the far West with nowhere else to run? 

Walking through the streets, his precious bundle tucked protectively within his arms, Faramir tried his hardest to ignore the obvious submission the people has already made.  By fleeing, or even blocking their houses, they were admitting defeat before the challenge even began.   They should fight, make a stand that, if they should be destroyed, would be remembered for years in those lucky few that may survive – *may* survive.  

Mentally preparing himself for what he had to do, Faramir put the rest of his thoughts to the back of his mind, trapping them in a place where they could no longer hinder him.   Within just a few minutes, only a few meters away, he had to walk up to his ailing father and tell him of Boromir's untimely death.  

Seriously, what more could the Valar thrust upon them in such an already trying time.

The fact that he had no real clue as to how Boromir had passed was a troublesome thought.  How had he died?  Who had thought of putting him with in the confines of a boat tomb?  

Finally hearing his father's voice echoing out from the stone confines of one of the cities watchtowers, Faramir inhaled a deep breath before walking through the open door.

The room was abuzz with activity.  Soldiers were running back and forth carrying swords and quivers of arrows, ones obviously in charge yelling at the others to get them moving with their task.  

Looking up, Denethor saw his son's somber expression and, raising a gloved hand in the air, ordered the men to stop.

"Leave us,' he uttered little louder then a whisper.  

As the last of the men filed out the door, Faramir began.  "Father..." he stated with a slight shake in his voice.  Chiding himself for his weakness, he drew in a deep breath, squared his shoulders and lifted his head high.  He would do this – he had to do this and he had to do it right.  

"Yes son," the weakening man exclaimed with a small smile that did not quite reach his eyes.  

Denethor was a man of mixed impressions.  While he was young enough; still fit to rule and clearly able to draw weapons, he also seemed fragile, feeble and slow.  It was as if a troublesome burden had long resided upon his once broad shoulders, ever so slowly pushing him down to the ground and sucking his strength from his very bones.   

Looking at his father, Faramir found that, no matter how much he tried to force himself, he could not keep eye contact with the man.  Dropping his eyes, he found himself wondering if it was due to the situation at hand or if there was a deeper, longer running reason that he could not comfortably gaze into the eyes of he whom had fathered him.  

It was a disturbing discovery, one that, looking back on it, he should have noticed long before.  It had been months, maybe even years since he had last looked directly into those eyes.  Eyes that he could hardly remember the colour of.  

Why was it so?  Why could he not look his own father in the eyes without squirming and dropping his normally steady gaze?  Maybe it was Denethor's favor for Boromir, the fact that he had always smiled upon the eldest son and told the younger to better himself.  Or perchance it was the feeling that had crept into Faramir these past months.  The feel that he was stronger, that he was of a more stable mind and that his father, the one that had pushed him to be all that he could be, was not living what he preached.  

Was it a loss of respect through exceeding, or through needless neglect? 

Whatever it was now was not the time to contemplate it for it would only complicate matters.  

Keeping his eyes glued to the objects that lay across his arms, Faramir tried desperately to find the words that he did not want to say.  

"Boromir," Faramir managed to finally force the words from his lips.  His throat felt as if it had been burnt, scorched with flames to the point that it was red raw.  Not worrying about trying to soften the blow due to an inability to compose the words that would have such an effect, Faramir cut right to the point.  

"...Boromir has...has passed..." Faramir's voice finally trailed off, his eyes still glued to the items in his arms.  Not wanting to look upon his father, he moved off to the side of the room and placed the charred sword, half a shield and the remains of the gauntlets on one of the low tables.  

He was glad to be rid of the weight.  It felt as if the items held the heaviness of Boromir's death upon them, inflicting the burden upon the younger son with a relentless reminder of the one lost.  

"What?" Denethor palled – if in fact that was possible given his already deathly complexion – the words not sinking in for a few seconds.

"He..." Faramir started yet was unsure of where to take the statement.  He did not know how he died, where he fell, whom he was with.  What sort of support and condolences could he possibly offer?  

Finally lifting his eyes, he saw that his father seemed to sway dangerously where he stood.  It was if his eyes had rolled back in his head, his face ghostly white while chapped lips moved to unheard words.  

"Father?" Faramir pressed, the emotion in his eyes turning from sadness to worry.  Taking a careful step forward, the young captain peered into his fathers face, searching for the knowledge of what was going through his mind.  

Closer now, he could affirm his first suspicions that Denethor was in fact muttering to himself, his words rushed and incomprehensible.   If Faramir did not know better, he would have sworn that his father was speaking in another dialect, but Denethor did not know any other languages...did he?  

"Father?" calling louder this time, Faramir took another step forward and placed a hand upon his father's shoulder.  

At the touch Denethor reacted as if he had been slapped.  Reeling back, his eyes almost flashing in both fear and hatred, he let out a small gasp as he looked upon the face of his son.  It was as if he no longer recognized the young man that stood before him, as if he saw him as the enemy. 

Hand blindly gripping for the sword that he carried at his hip, Denethor took a few rushed steps backwards, his eyes huge as he took in the appearance of his startled descendant.   

"Father, it is I!" Faramir said, his voice trimmed with both worry and fright.  Watching in disbelief as Denethor drew his sword slowly from the sheath, Faramir took a precautionary step backwards, putting more room between him and his disturbed father.  

"Father, you can put that away – you have no use for it here."  The young captain tried to rationalize with his wild-eyed parent and Lord.  

Seeing a flash of determination flash through Denethor's eyes, Faramir barely had time to dodge the over-hand strike that flew towards his head.  Jumping to the side and automatically drawing his sword in reflex, Faramir watched as the small bench that he had placed Boromir's belonging on broke in the middle, the sword striking hard and splitting the wood.  

What was left of his elder brothers shield fell to the ground and, upon impact, seemed to disintegrate, the extent of the fire and hard impact with the stone floor proving to be too much for the tortured wood.   Landing upon the pile of shattered wood and ash, the sword of Boromir seemed to balance charily on the unstable heap before sliding off, slowly making its way through the weaker substance before clattering to the cobbled floor.  

Seeing that his father was intently watching the decent of the sword, Faramir summoned his courage and walked softly up to Denethor.  

At his approach, Denethor looked up and locked glances.  His eyes were no longer aflame with that mysterious sense of power and hatred and his face, as far as one could tell, was back to its now normal colour.  . The sword that he had only moments before wielded with a fierce strength was dangling from his right hand, his fingers curled almost lazily around the hilt as the tip rested on the floor.  

Faramir was the first to drop his gaze, having been caught off guard by the action that he had just admitted to himself that he never conducted

Casting his son only a quick glance, Denethor straightened himself and rubbed the imaginary creases out of his long tunic.  Tucking his sword back into place, he offered Faramir a small smile before hastily leaving the room, the door slamming shut behind him causing the candles to flicker slightly.

Staring in confused wonder at the door, it took Faramir more then a few moments to come back to himself.  Shaking the thoughts and worries from his already screaming mind, he slowly – like he had suddenly become years older – knelt down beside the pile of ash that had been his brothers shield.  

Pulling the charred sword from the rubble and setting it aside, he gently pushed the remains away with his gloved hand, searching through for anything that was salvageable.  

It was all powder, all burnt and destroyed.  Charcoal and small fragments of flame licked wood.  Nothing remained that was worth saving; worth keeping as a token of remembrance of his brother; nothing unless he wanted to bottle the dust that was now spread thinly upon the cool, grey stones.  

Sitting back on his hunches and pushing a small strand of wavy dark-blond hair from his eyes, he paid no attention to the smudge of ash that he felt creep upon his skin as his hand passed over.  A small smile passed over his face as he looked down on the darkened glove of his right hand.  

It was ironic in a way, in some weird, twisted game of fate that Boromir should have been burnt.   Here Gondor was, standing upon the brink of destruction, under threat from a land of dark ash and red fire, and the eldest son of the over-lord was dead, his body reduced to a pile of smoldering embers.  Maybe it had been predated to happen so; maybe the god's had seen fit to send someone as a messenger to the land of the dead before the rest of his people would follow.

Perhaps the ones that fled had the right idea – they were all to be doomed, all to break upon the battlefield and perish in the fires of Mordor.

They would die, they would be defeated and, most importantly of all, they would be broken.   

*****

"Curse them," a hushed voice spoke softly into the howling wind, "curse them all!"  

Perched upon a high branch, hood pulled far over his face to shield it from both the rain and the wind, the Elf glared down at the moving figures which stalked along the ground.  His eyes flashed a dangerous green as he saw that they walked with their head held high as if they owned the place.  

How sweet it would be for he and his scouts to prove them wrong.

Raising a closed fist, the figure allowed two fingers to lift and then fall forward, motioning for the two Elves on his right to move. Switching hands, he did the same with his left fist only this time using three fingers to direct them to the left.  Lifting his pointer finger of each hand, he held them up in the darkness and, waiting till the noise beneath passed them by a considerable distance, lowered his open palms.  Grabbing his own bow, the Elf heard the soft, quick decent of the other two behind him as they dropped to the ground.

Rising silently to his feet, the warrior ran effortlessly across the wet branch to a small opening in the thick leaves.  Crouching down once more, he reached behind his back and pulled out a long, white fletched arrow from his quiver and placed it between his teeth, locking it tightly into place within his mouth.  

Peering through the leaves once more, he saw that the foul beasts had not yet passed from the clearing, the unusual density of the trees slowing their progress immensely.  

Drawing in a deep breath of the cool night air, the Elf reached up and grabbed a light hold upon another branch.  Counting down from five mentally, he let his feet slide off the branch he had been standing on as soon as he reached zero.  Swinging on the other for a moment, he tensed the muscles in his arms, drawing his body into a slight arching swing before letting go.  

He practically flew through the lush green leaves before landing silently on the ground only a few feet from the band of Orcs that had dared to pass their borders.   It was one of the largest groups that they had seen in these parts for a long time, numbering around thirty-five in comparison to the dozen Elven guards.  

Pulling the arrow from between his teeth and his bow from his back all in one swift movement, Haldir of Lothlórien notched the arrow and, holding it for only a moment, let it fly.  It hit the Orc closest to him in the back, passing right through its scaly hide to hit the heart dead centre.  

The shrill yelp that the dying beast gave out was enough to alert the others to the fact that something was amiss and, within an instant, they all spun on their heels, their swords raised, to be faced with a single blond Elf.  

Watching as the twisted faces displayed a mixture of snarls and growls, while eyes flashed yellow and green, Haldir did naught but smile smugly at the creatures.  

Thinking the Elf to be either overly arrogant or utterly stupid, the Orc's approached without any hint of caution whatsoever.   

Smirking yet again, Haldir took a few steps back while drawing another arrow and fitting it to his bow.  Letting the shaft fly through the air, it found its end in the stomach of one of the beasts.  It went down, withering and squirming on the ground and its companions, showing what heartless creatures they really were, proceeded to practically walk over in their attempt to intimidate the Elf.  

Pleased with his opponents position, Haldir stopped his retreat and, raising one eyebrow elegantly, yelled out, "Leithio i philinn!"

Before his voice could even stop echoing around the forest, a curtain of white feathered arrows sailed towards the orcs from all directions, their shooters hidden within the nearly impassable undergrowth that the woods of Lothlórien provided.  

Orcs fell to the ground, withering in pain as their screams of agony reached the very heavens above.  Without even having to issue another command, a second volley of arrows was fired into the group of panicked orcs, the onslaught this time aided with one of Haldir's skilfully aimed arrows.  

Once that shower of arrows had stopped the Elves knew that unless they were to take their time with aiming properly to hit the frantic targets, their bows were useless.  

Haldir stood in wait at the centre of the ring of trees, waiting for the orcs to make the first move in putting in his plan into action.  

"Mecil!" Haldir called into the forest, his gloved hand raised high in the air.  "Dartho…" watching as the Orc's advanced on him, their eyes speaking of the hatred between their races, Haldir waited for the right moment, not wanting to put his warriors at any more risk then need be.  

The Orcs where stupid creatures, too blood thirsty for their own good when it came to the lives of Elves or any other beings that they had decided to hate and hunt.  It was their stupidity that aided those that normally would have fallen victim due to the overwhelming numbers, to gain the upper hand.   They did not care that almost half of their numbers had been shot down, or that there obviously were more Elves lying in wait for them; all they cared for was for the death of the one that they saw.  

"…Dartho…" almost there; almost to the right spot.  Close enough that Haldir could smell the foul stench of rotten meat upon their breaths.  

Holding his position as long as he dared, he saw the leader Orc start to pull back on his sword, ready to thrust it into the Elf that stood statue still only four feet away.  

"Herio!" Haldir commanded as he let his hand drop.  

As one, the Elven warriors spilt into the clearing, swords drawn as their leader had commanded of them, and engaged the Orc's head on.

Placing all his weight on his left leg, Haldir swiftly kicked the sword from the leader's hand, sending it clattering across the clearing.  As soon as his right foot touched the ground, he sprung back, arms up behind his head and fingers spread.  Arching his back, he let his hands touch the ground and, taking his weight onto his arms, kicked the beast under the jaw as his legs followed the path of the rest of his body, back-flipping away from the onslaught of Orc's. 

The leader, taken by surprise, growled out in his native tongue.  "Drepapaken!"  Immediately three of the Orcs detached themselves from the rabble and, weapons drawn, advanced on the now standing Haldir.  

Quickly wiping his hands against the sides of his legs, Haldir grabbed the set of Elven daggers that had been a gift from the Lord of Rivendell and threw them tip first into the rain softened dirt, leaving them at either side of his feet for easy access.  Grasping his slightly curved sword, he drew it from its sheath and awaited the rush of foul beings with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension.

As the first came upon him, he swirled the blade over his head, letting the sword find its target between the Orc's shoulder and neck, successfully severing the head.

A cry from the left alerted him to the fact that one of his charges was in trouble, and, sparing only a quick glance, he threw his sword with surprising accuracy at the beast that had the young Elf pinned against a tree.  The orc fell with an enraged grunt, leaving the Elf able to regain his own weapon and rejoin the fight after nodding a quick 'thank you' to his commander.

As the other two orcs came at him, he kicked the next Orc in the side of the head whilst elbowing another under the jaw, snapping the neck.  As the first Orc recovered, Haldir quickly reached down for his waiting blades, pulling them from the earth within an instant.  Spinning them over his knuckles with ease, he finished one of the arcs with a downwards thrust on either side of the first Orc's neck, cutting deeply into the scaly skin.  Black blood sputtered from the wound and clung to the slender blades but he seemed not to care. 

Eyes darting through the crowd, Haldir located the leader of the Orcs and, making eye contact, pointed one of his thin blades at it, issuing his challenge.  

The Orc, stopping the battle that he was engaged in with one of the other Elven warriors, simply walked through the crowd, his head held high and showing no sighs of fear in any way.  

As soon as it reached Haldir, it took an almighty swing at the blonds head, intending to disperse of the Elf as soon as he could.  

Side stepping, Haldir easily avoided the rash blow while being able to send one of his daggers into the unprotected side of the commander.  The blade slid in easily, cutting through flesh and bone while enticing a howl of pain from the Orc as it clutched at its side.  The scaly hand wrapped around the small part of exposed blade, forcing Haldir to let go of the knife if he wished to keep his hand intact.

Taking a precautionary step backwards, Haldir watched in slight dismay as the beast ripped the blade from his side and through it to the back of the clearing, the pain not seeming to affect the Orc at all.  

Knowing that his chances against the larger Orc were not good if he was only armed with one short dagger, Haldir slowly circled the beast, putting himself into the position that he wanted.  Seeing the Orc that he had killed with his sword behind the leader, Haldir waited until the Orc rushed at him.

Grabbing his bow-knife by the tip of the blade, Haldir threw it with all his might at the Orc, hitting it in the shoulder while launching himself forward and to the ground.    Hands folded over his head, he gracefully rolled out of the Orcs way and right past him, bringing him closer to his discarded sword.  

As Haldir rose to his feet, the leader turned, an angry growl coming from deep within its throat.  

The soft hiss of the air told Haldir that the blade of the Orc was sailing through the air behind him.  Throwing himself into a small dive, the Elf's head fell just out of reach of the blade moments before the sword would have sliced into the back of his neck.

Sliding to a stop by his discarded sword, Haldir grabbed the hilt, pulling it from the corpse and raised it quickly above his left shoulder, parrying the blow of the Orc chieftain moments before it would have severed his head.   Pushing back with all his might, he allowed his upper body to slip in further behind his own sword so that the blade was now more level with his chest.  Turning his wrists so that his sword stood between him and the Orcs', he gave a hard and forceful push on the locked blades.   As soon as the Orc was thrown slightly off balance, Haldir let himself fall backwards, his back hitting the ground as his right leg slipped out from behind him.  

Kicking the Orc in the stomach and shoving at the crossed swords once again, Haldir quickly let go of the hilt with is right hand and reached up to grab the stumbling Orc by slipping his fingers into the joins of the breastplate.   Tugging the Orc as hard as he could, he pulled the being over the top of both their swords and himself, letting go of the beast before it crashed to the ground to the left of the Elf.  

Jumping to his feet, the Marchwarden quickly swiped down, delivering the final blow that ended the chieftain's life.  

Glancing quickly around the clearing, he saw a number of Elves doing the same, their blows echoed with the cries of pain and gurgles of blood in the Orc's throats as they passed out of existence.  

Seeing that all the Orcs either had been slaughtered or were running somewhere in the opposite direction to what would cause any harm, Haldir slowly made his way to the centre of the body littered clearing.  Leaning on his sword he looked to all the dirty faces that peered back at him.

 "Is anyone injured?" Haldir called out while brushing away a few strands of silvery hair.

"Hîthlad, sir," one of the others called out from the far edge of the clearing.  

Dropping his sword to the ground Haldir hastily made his way over to the Elf that had spoken.  He was kneeling beside a figure that lay prone upon the muddy ground, his hood fallen back to reveal a pale, blood streaked face.  

Crouching by the Elf's head, Haldir looked down at the being, his face set in sorrow.  His eyes, normally a startling green, were a strange pale blue, glazed over and unseeing.  The large amount of blood that flowed across his face told of a serious head wound, most probably the reason of his demise.  

Reaching down slowly, he moved his hand gently over the face, closing the eyes of the deceased Elf before smoothing the silvery locks around his brow.  

"Get him back to the city," Haldir informed the man that had alerted him of the death, "take as many as you need to help you.  Make sure that he receives the respect that he deserves."  Standing to his feet, Haldir looked over all the Elves that guarded the northern borders with him.  

Looking to the warriors, Haldir could see the fear in their eyes.  Hîthlad had been a friend to all of them, the type that did not care of himself as long as he was able to aid another.  He was a few centuries younger then Haldir and most of the Elves in the patrol group, and a lot of the time that had shown through.  He was a joker, someone who could have made you laugh even in the most serious of times or even through tears.  Just looking at the others as they looked back at him, he could tell that Hîthlad would be greatly missed and that there was not one warrior among them that was not fighting to keep their self control.  

"You fought well and you fought bravely." Haldir stated, knowing that he had to offer those that looked up to him some form of assurance.  "Though it is a tragedy that a life was lost, look to the lives that we have saved.  Mourn him, but do not linger upon it.  Hîthlad deserves our respect and our gratitude for he was a great warrior, but he does not wish for our pity.  He would not want that, we all know that for a fact.  

Pacing in front of the gathered Elves, he saw that they were not completely agreeing with him.  They were frightened, ready to break and to scatter back to the city, leaving their post unattended.  Hîthlad had been the first immortal death that most of them had seen, the first one of them to fall and Haldir knew that there were all pondering on who would be the next.  

Taking a deep breath, he tried to reassure himself that all would be fine before even attempting to convince his company.   If he could not get a hold of himself, then what good was he to the ones that needed him now more then ever?

"We have taken it upon ourselves to guard this land," he started, his voice quiet and withdrawn, "and guard this land is what we shall do.  We have, each and every one of us, sworn to protect this land, our home and the very heart of Elvendom with our very lives!  We have promised to do all that is within our power to keep those that we love and cherish safe from the threats of the Dark Lord.  Now yes, an immortal life was lost today, but are we to let that loss, the first that we have experienced in years, are we to let that stop us?  To break us?  Are we to let them take our home?  To burn our forests and to kill our kin just because we broke at the first real test? 

"I am willing to uphold my vow, to give my life for this just as Hîthlad has this very night.  I will fight till I no longer draw breath or till the Dark powers cease to challenge us!  Why?  Because this," he spoke passionately while holding his arms out, implying that it was the forests that he spoke of, "is far beyond us all.  Lothlórien, Caras Galadhon, it is all that Elves, no matter where they are in Middle-Earth stand for.  This place is what we are, who we are!  We are tree-people, protectors of the forests and the children of nature.  And if I must die to protect that which has protected me for the entirety of my life, then so be it!" Pausing to look each Elf in the face, Haldir could see that he had reached them, that somewhere, deep down, he had found that which drove them on.  "Now, are you with me?"

His answer came in the form of a cheer.  A cheer so loud that it seemed to reach to the very sky and pass all the way into the city which they had all sworn to protect.   Hîthlad would be mourned just as he would be missed, but they could not stop now.  They had a duty; to their people, to their Lord and Lady and to themselves.  

"We will not fall," Haldir practically yelled, the others cheering even more, emphasizing each word that their captain spoke by banging the bottoms of their long-bows against the earth.  "We will not stop and we will not yield, not as long as there is an ounce of strength to share between us!  But, most importantly of all, we will not be broken!"

*****

A single light illumined the darkness of the small room, casting a crimson circle around the seated, hunched figure.  The light flickered, wavered in its intensity before changing colour completely.  Green flooded the room, green like the rolling hills and the lush forests of the world, yet slowly, very slowly, it started to darken; turn into the colour of the forests when the sun is tucked behind a passing cloud.   Night fell, a night without stars or moon, candle or the soft glow of fireflies.  It was pure darkness, a black that still seemed to give off a light even if it was of resentment and hatred.  

Soft words were spoken to the darkness, words of innocent curiosity that became twisted into something more; something of a sinister nature.  Searching's for a lost loved one transformed into the desperate need to find something else, and yet something unknown.  The words and intentions were changed without either the beings consent or knowledge, only the glowing orb understood what was in fact happening.  

Glowing brighter, it answered, did as it was bid to do.  Every time it did such; obeyed one master only to find another stronger will forcing its way in and taking over its actions.  Thus was the way with those that were bound and those that were linked.  One submitted to the other and all sacrificed for continuing the connection between them.  

And still the voice muttered...seeing things that should not be seen...the minds slowly being twisted and broken beyond that which was comprehensible...

*****

Time line for Chapter Ten

30 – Night.  
  
Éowyn is stopped in her attempts of talking to Théoden by Gríma.   Aragorn and Legolas talk while Faramir has to inform his father of Boromir's death.  A party of orcs enter Lothlórien only to be stopped by Haldir and his warriors.  

*****

Tbc...

Ok, so I got stuck with Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli and thus decided that it was high time that I started showing a bit more of the 'bigger picture' so to put it.  The 'broken' thing was just due to my strange mood, but in the end I kinda liked it, especially the Haldir bit (which was meant to end the same way, but just would not!)  I mean, go Haldir with the prep talk!  

Quick note to Ihni: Ever read Alice in Wonderland?  If you have, remember that weird ass, slightly insane cat that would always appear and then as it disappeared, it would only leave its eyes.  That is the Cheshire cat!  It is used as an expression – or maybe that is just used by my rather strange mother…

Ok, that is all from me – have to get some school work done!  I have an independent biology experiment due in a week and I have not even started!  Yay!  See what I give up for you guys?! *pokes out tongue*

Minka


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